


the sun don’t shine underground

by ultranos



Series: salt and ashes [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Azula (Avatar) Needs a Hug, Gen, Imperialism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Protective Azula (Avatar), Zhao (Avatar) Is An Asshole, Zuko (Avatar) Needs a Hug, author is casting arcane handwave at spirit things, azula looked at canon and set it on fire, azula's obvious and ongoing trauma, iroh is realizing there is not enough tea in the universe, violently protective Azula
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 96,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25474642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultranos/pseuds/ultranos
Summary: In one universe, Ozai looked at his newborn son and saw disappointment. In another, he saw a way to rival his brother. In both, he looked at his daughter and saw a weapon. The question would be who was the wielder.Azula was never anyone’s idea of a hero.Book 1 ofsalt & ashes
Relationships: Azula & Iroh (Avatar), Azula & Lu Ten, Azula & Toph Beifong, Azula & Zuko (Avatar), Mai & Zuko (Avatar), Ozai & Zuko (Avatar), Toph Beifong & Iroh, Ty Lee & Zuko (Avatar)
Series: salt and ashes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1845337
Comments: 587
Kudos: 1161
Collections: Timballisto's Curated Works





	1. there’s a tiger in your cage (now go to sleep)

**Author's Note:**

> Beta and general enabler: [RakshaTheDemon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RakshaTheDemon/pseuds/RakshaTheDemon)

Her firstborn comes with the dawn.

Ursa smiles tiredly from the bed with her son in her arms when her husband enters the room. Ozai can spare her a softer look, but he clearly only has eyes for the newborn blinking sleepily as dawn breaks across his face. “This is your father,” she whispers down to the boy. She turns to the man. “Meet Zuko,” she says. They’d agreed on the name.

“A son,” Ozai whispers, pride finding fertile ground in his voice. He picks up the boy and cradles him in his arms like he’s the most precious treasure in the world. “My son. My own boy. You’ll never want for anything.” Ursa hears Ozai carve his promises into the fabric of the universe, an implacable will bent towards this boy. “You’ll shine brighter than them all, brighter than your cousin, I swear you will.”

She thinks she loves him, then. She can love this Ozai, the one who sounds like he’d burn the world for his son, more than the man who has shared her bed before this.

Zuko looks up at his father, eyes a tawny burnished gold in the rising sun. He yawns and settles, seemingly content in his father’s warmth. Ozai smiles. 

——

Ursa’s second child is born screaming at the sun, high above at its zenith. The girl’s cries are relentless when they clean her and bundle her up. She only falls into a grudging silence once she’s handed back to her mother, and Ursa manages to settle her against her chest. Ursa wonders if one can actually be born raging at the world; her daughter seems to be making a fine go at it.

Ozai does not visit immediately. That is understandable. Her husband is a busy man, prince that he is, and the girl came in the middle of the day. When he finally does come, just before the evening meal, he follows behind Zuko toddling into the room on unsteady legs. Zuko beelines directly for the bed and clambers onto it. He kneels next to Ursa’s side and peers seriously at the newborn in her arms.

“Zuko,” she says softly. “This is your baby sister.”

The baby returns her brother’s stare with bright, gold eyes.

Ozai isn’t frowning, but he isn’t smiling either. He looks considering. They hadn’t agreed on a name for a daughter. Ursa...she isn’t sure what to think right now, not when her husband has that look on his face, even when her children are engaged in less a staring contest and more an attempt to divine the secrets of the universe from each other.

Ozai reaches over and gently rests his hand on Zuko’s head. This breaks the boy’s attention, and he turns to his father with a beaming smile. “Baby!”

Her husband chuckles warmly and carefully runs his fingers through Zuko’s soft hair. “That’s right, Zuko. It’s your baby sister.”

Zuko tilts his head slightly. “Sister?” he asks, slightly lisping the word.

He keeps brushing his fingers through the boy’s hair. Zuko leans a little into his father’s touch, and Ursa feels her heart fill with joy at the sight. “What do you think should be the name?” she asks.

Ozai considers the girl in Ursa’s arms again. “My father,” he says slowly, “made...choices for my brother and I. Choices I...” He breathes out, seemingly weary. “I don’t want to make the same choices he did. I want Zuko to never think his sister is not watching his back.”

Ursa doesn’t need to be told more. She knows the distance between the two princes of the Fire Nation. Iroh is the Fire Lord’s preferred son, the shining heir who has proved himself on the battlefield before his brother could do more than toddle. She did not know the pain this caused her husband, and she feels now that she understands his drive to be seen, to be appreciated for the skill with words he’s honed sharper than any blade. Ozai can run circles around the court, but Azulon never saw the value in that as much as the coin of blood and ash.

Ozai...wants to do better for his children. Ursa can’t ask for anything more. “What are you thinking?”

“I think ‘Azula’. Even though I will do things differently, I still wish to honor my father.” He looks down at Zuko again; the boy’s attention is once again captured by his sister. “A strong flame to stand between you and danger, Zuko.” Ozai smiles indulgently. “A younger sister should always have her brother’s back.”

(No one notices the baby’s eyes have slightly narrowed as she watches this all. Newborns can’t see well enough anyway for it to mean anything.)

——

Ursa walks slowly with Ozai through one of the palace gardens. It’s a rare enough occurrence that she finds she can enjoy his presence beside her. He’s been busy, busier than normal. The court is rumbling, he says. (His brother’s victories on the battlefield are great, but the Fire Nation is still at war, has been at war for so long, and why isn’t progress being made? What is the Fire Lord’s plan, why is he holding his son back?) Ozai has been run ragged by damage control and carefully-placed flattery, although one would never be able to tell just from looking at him.

Ursa can. She can tell the tension in his shoulders and the pinched look in his eyes, the increased calculation in every gaze. He sees threats in every corner, knives in every compliment, fire in every dance. She’s glad they can take a moment like this, to walk in the gardens in the sunlight and maybe he can set down his troubles just for a moment.

Childish laughter captures their attention. Both turn at the same time to see Zuko stumbling up the path to them, holding his sister as best he can in his little arms. He has a broad smile on his face, excitement just about pouring out of him. “Mama! Papa!” he shouts when he sees them. (The girl’s feet just barely manage to avoid scraping the ground. The disgruntled look on the toddler’s face would speak volumes, if anyone were to bother to read it.)

She kneels down so she’s at his eye level. “What is it, Zuko?”

He thrusts his sister forward. “Zula made fire!” he declares, voice full of pride. It’s unsurprising. Zuko is a prince of the Fire Nation. He knows they have the blessing of Agni in their blood, his favor upon their brows. He himself has yet to bend, but Ozai has been patient. He’s only four. And despite that age, Zuko is doing very well. His tutors all glow with praise for their boy, how he is a joy to teach. She knows her husband hordes the praise for his son like a dragon, taking careful note of those who bestowed it, counts it up and compares it to his nephew.

(He measures Zuko against Lu Ten. She knows this, knows it feeds that dark jealousy in his heart where his brother lives. She’s not convinced it’s a bad thing. Where is the danger, if it causes Ozai to celebrate Zuko’s every achievement? Zuko is _his_.)

Now though, Ozai turns to the toddler dangling in her brother’s arms. “Is that so?” he asks quietly.

Zuko nods, little head bobbling up and down like a baby turtleduck. “Show Papa, Zula. Show him!” he demands as he sets her down on her feet.

The girl stumbles slightly, a tiny frown on her face. She looks back at her brother before looking up at her parents. Her hand comes up and the frown intensifies. Ursa thinks for a moment that it makes her look serious, too serious but it’s also adorable and any other thoughts are knocked to the side when a tiny orange flame flickers to life in her daughter’s palm. The girl looks up at both of them, and says nothing.

Zuko takes charge of that. “See?” he yells, nearly bouncing with his excitement. He sounds so proud.

“Well then,” she hears Ozai say softly. Ursa turns and sees the look on his face. He’s looking at the child with more interest than he ever has. “That _is_ a development. We’ll have to hone that talent, Azula.”

Ozai is looking at his daughter with a look Ursa has never seen before. (That’s a lie.) It’s like he’s seeing her for the very first time. There’s something in his gaze, a calculating hunger, a viper that has found an unattended nest. He smiles at the girl and does not show his teeth.

(Some day, Ursa will remember he looked at the Fire Nation war machines, shining in the sunlight, lined up in perfect rows in the factory, with the same look. The look that weighed lives and costs and blood and potential and gain in some cold equation that only he knew.)

(Today is not that day. Today, Ursa’s attention is on her son, and the way he laughs in delight and swings his sister around in his arms. Today, Ursa only sees the future she wants to see.)

——

Zuko frowns at the paper in front of him, carefully dragging the brush along as he finishes the calligraphy exercise. He sits back when he lifts the brush from the paper, careful to keep ink from dripping on his work. He peers up at her, eyes bright.

Ursa smiles. “Very good, Zuko.” He beams at the praise. Her boy hasn’t started firebending yet, but that just means he has time to focus on the other parts of his education. Ursa has left his tutors strict instructions, and all of them have come back with glowing praise, reports brimming with phrases such as “quick learner” and “joy to teach”. It makes her feel a kind of warmth that doesn’t require the flame.

“Can we go feed the turtleducks?” he asks. Ursa can’t help but smile indulgently.

“Of course we can. But we have to clean up first.”

He nods seriously. “Princes shouldn’t leave messes.” Zuko carefully packs away his calligraphy practice while she hides a smile behind a sleeve. Once he’s put his things in their proper place, he scampers over to her side and they walk to into the palace garden together. She requests a loaf of bread from a passing servant, which is delivered by the time they make it to the turtleduck pond.

They spend the rest of the afternoon feeding the turtleducks. Zuko tells her about all the things he’s learning with his tutors, about the Battle of the White Cliffs, about how much he likes plays more than poetry, how his favorite character ever is the Blue Spirit. His mind jumps from topic to topic and it’s difficult to not be amazed at all that he has retained despite his age.

He’s still talking very seriously about the Blue Spirit when they meet with Ozai for dinner. At his father’s prompting, Zuko happily launches into the explanation all over again. It’s only after the soup course has been taken away that Ursa realizes something is off.

“Where’s Azula?”

Ozai jolts slightly, his attention from his son broken. “Azula?” he asks. “I was told she was tired after her lessons. I felt it best to let her sleep.”

Something...the girl is only four. What kind of training is she doing that she’s tired out by dinner? But Ozai doesn’t seem concerned, and Ursa admits he knows more about firebending than she ever will. Surely if there was a cause for concern, he would tell her. Or he would have the tutor responsible thrown out even before informing her. He loves his children; she can see that just from how enraptured he is by his son’s words.

There’s nothing to worry about.

Ursa keeps eating. She doesn’t want dinner to get cold.

—-

Ursa’s walking in one of the gardens when she sees the body. It takes her a few moments to realize that the body is actually her nephew, sprawled out in the sun on the grass. She then notices the small form draped on top of his chest.

Lu Ten looks up at her as she approaches, giving her a lop-sided grin. “Hello, Aunt Ursa,” he says quietly. One of his hands rests across the child’s back. Ursa blinks at the sight of Azula fast asleep on her cousin’s chest. The child’s hair is in disarray and there’s soot smudged across her cheek.

“Hello, Lu Ten,” she says, for lack of anything better to say. The young man recently returned home from his first tour on the front. He must have better things to do than be stuck here with a small child drooling on him. “I can take her...”

Lu Ten shakes his head. (She notes his hand curling almost possesively into the fabric of Azula’s training shirt) “No, it’s fine, she’s fine,” he says, still smiling. “I really don’t mind.”

She smiles uncertainly.

“Really,” he says, eyes crinkling. “I like spending time with my little cousins.”

“If you’re sure...” Maybe he’s practicing? For when he has his own children. Certainly he’s getting to that age when Prince Iroh will be having to consider that.

“I’m sure,” Lu Ten says firmly. “Azula’s just worn out. She was excited to show me some of the things she was learning.”

(There’s an odd quality to his voice. Ursa...isn’t sure what it means.)

“Oh? That’s nice. She’s so...cold. I can’t get her to spend time with me, so I’m glad she can be excited for someone, at least.” She tries to ignore the weird twist in her gut, the way the admission feels like a knife in her throat. Who ever heard of a child spurning her own mother? 

Lu Ten’s smile shifts. It’s still present, still broad, but there’s something else there. “Maybe she just needs to find something to talk about.”

Ursa shakes her head, laughing quietly. “All that child is interested in is firebending, I swear. That’s all I ever see her doing. Zuko, you can find five different things to talk about in as many minutes.”

Her nephew doesn’t say anything, just hums, still smiling. She watches him brush strands of hair out of her daughter’s sleeping face, watches as Azula shuffles a little, almost curling closer into her cousin’s chest. Ursa...doesn’t know the last time she saw her daughter like this.

She takes her leave. The two cousins remain sprawled in the sunlight.

(She’ll remember the tone years later. It’s a little late then.)

——

Zuko bends fire for the first time when he’s seven. He ends up having the entire palace wing in an uproar because he accidentally sets his bedcurtains on fire. Ozai clearly doesn’t care about that; Ursa can see the absolute pride in his eyes as he shows his son his very first firebending kata. Despite his talent with weapons (he’s been carrying around the practice dao Lu Ten gave him for the past five weeks), he’s nervous the first time he tries to go through the motions with fire. Her heart hurts a little at his determined face after he trips a third time, clearly startled by the flames he produces.

“Zuzu, you’re doing it wrong,” Azula calls out from the side-lines. Ursa frowns a little at the commentary. Zuko is doing fine, he doesn’t need teasing.

“Azula,” Ozai snaps, turning to face her. Ursa watches as Azula’s mouth clicks shut and her face settles into a completely blank expression. Affecting boredom now?

Zuko huffs a little and glares at his little sister. However, he manages to do the next attempt at the kata without tripping, and a bright red gout of flame flares from his fists. The proud smile on his face is worth it. Ozai rewards him with a proud smile of his own.

Ursa gracefully stands and makes her way over to Zuko. He’s done very well. “I’ll have to add practice to my schedule,” he tells her seriously. “I still like the swordwork, but bending is really fun.”

Ozai smiles at that. “You have a talent,” he says. “Most boys your age would take much longer to get that kata.” His smile grows. “I’ve seen the complaints from the training camps.” He turns his head, attention caught by something else, and he loses the smile. “Azula,” he says tersely. “I believe you have training, don’t you?”

Ursa glances over in time to see the girl’s eyes go wide. She scrambles to her feet and gives them all a deep bow before racing off. That child. All she lives for is training.

Ursa sighs, and turns her attention back to her son. No sense in changing what does not want to be changed.

—-

She remembers Lu Ten’s comment from years ago. Maybe she _does_ need to make a little more effort for her daughter. Surely she can distract the child from all this training to spend time with her mother. She has to at least try.

Ursa decides to start simple. Feeding the turtleducks is how she and Zuko bonded, and it’s the kind of low-pressure activity that might be more appealing to her daughter’s admittedly-intense tastes. The child needs to learn how to relax or else she’ll earn herself white hairs before she’s in her twenties. And Ozai mentioned that they had spent time by the pond recently.

Decision made, she asks the servants to prepare a tea service and bread by the pond and goes off to find her wayward child. Azula is surprisingly difficult to find, given that Ursa thought she knew how the girl spends her time. She’s surprised to find Azula in her room reading what looks to be the texts she’s fairly certain are used in common schools. How interesting. She never knew Azula had an interest in what the lower-classes were taught. Perhaps this endeavor isn’t as doomed as she feared.

“Azula,” she calls. The girl lifts her head and turns to stare at Ursa where she stands in the doorway. She has a blank expression on her face.

“Mother,” she says calmly, slightly tilting her head. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

Ursa tries not to bristle. The dull tone might not mean anything. It might just be a sign that, well, Azula is well-aware that Ursa has never really come asking for her for any trivial reason. (She’s just so _busy_.)

Still, she refuses to be intimidated by a six-year-old. “I thought it would be nice to spend some time together. I would appreciate it if you joined me.”

Azula stares at her for a moment. Something flashes behind her eyes, a strange calculus that Ursa is startled to realize reminds her of her husband. There’s a complex web here, one that Ursa didn’t realize existed, and she wonders for a ridiculous moment if she just stepped into a tiger viper’s den. The look is gone, but Azula’s face remains a study in blankness as she sets the scroll down and slides to her feet. “Very well.”

( _Unnatural_ , something hisses in her mind. Too loose, too graceful. Children do not move like that. This is not a child. This is something else, some shadow in a child’s skin, gold eyes hunter-cold. Tiger viper indeed.)

(Ursa tries to ignore the voice. Tries to remember instead the babe she held in her arms, tries to remember soft skin and happy smiles and bright eyes. Why are the memories so slippery? She will not be intimidated by her own child.)

Azula says nothing more as she follows, half a step behind Ursa as she makes her way to the garden. Ursa watches the girl from the corner of her eye, sees the perfect posture, spine stiff and straight, shoulders back, steps light. She walks with her hands clasped loosely behind her back (little soldier-hunter) and eyes forward. She walks so unlike Zuko, everything contained and perfect, nothing free and easy. How is it this girl’s fire can burn so hot when she herself is so very, very cold?

They enter the garden. Ursa smiles, pleased to see the tea service and bread she requested close enough to the turtleduck pond, on one of the nearby benches. From here she can spy at least one adventurous baby eyeing the basket that holds the bread, cheeping wildly as it paces underneath the bench. It is always a joy to see the little ones, especially little ones when they are so very determined such as this one.

Ursa is five steps away from the pond when she realizes Azula is no longer following her.

She turns fully and sees that her daughter has stopped at the edge of the path that leads to the pond. “Azula?”

“Mother. What are we doing?” Azula asks, gaze firmly fixed on the turtleducks. There’s a note in her voice Ursa has never heard before.

“I thought we would feed the turtleducks,” Ursa says carefully.

Something flashes in Azula’s eyes. She tenses for a second before forcibly relaxing. 

“You don’t have to feed them, if you don’t want to,” Ursa tries. It’s like trying to talk down a wild animal, not her own child. She shakes her head slightly. “You can just sit by the pond, next to me. Come on.”

(Did Azula just _growl_?)

That something is back in her daughter’s gaze, she can see it in wide eyes just for a moment, before the girl seems to wrestle it down again. She’s still, so still and rigid that Ursa wonders if a strong enough breeze would knock her right over.

Ursa sits next to the pond and gestures to the grass next to her. “Come on, Azula. Just take some time. You can relax. Just...spend time with the turtleducks,” she tries.

Azula isn’t actually perfectly still. No, she’s breathing very, very deliberately. (Something like runs along her spine and whispers in her ear: _here be monsters, child._ ) 

“I do not,” Azula bites out, words precise enough to cut, “want to spend time with the stupid turtleducks.” She breathes in, out, deliberate. Purposeful. Wrestling something down so it doesn’t leak out. “I apologize, Mother, I have training.”

She bows stiffly then turns on her heel and leaves Ursa sitting by the pond, alone and wondering why she should even try.

(Why did that look like _fear_ , of all things, in her daughter’s eyes? A small part of her wonders.)

(Ursa ignores it. Her daughter makes no sense.)

—-

“Which complete _idiot_ thought I’d even want that? Just...get out! Go away!” a sharp, childish voice echoes in the halls. Ursa frowns; Azula’s snapping at the servants again. The girl’s started doing that recently, always a half-step away from looking like she’d just want to burn the place down. (She’s caught some of the drawn and disturbed looks from servants, even servants who’ve been taking care of her children for years. More than one has left in tears.)

She’s starting to sound like her father, when Ozai runs out of patience.

Sure enough, one of the older servants turns the corner and scuttles swiftly down the hall. The older woman has a pinched look on her pale face, a twist in her lips that screams displeasure. The servant sees Ursa and the look is gone, replaced with a smooth, professional look as the woman gives her a respectful bow.

Ursa doesn’t know what to say. Is there something she can say? That her child is willful, resistant to all her attempts at teaching the softer methods?

The servant continues walking and Ursa wonders how much of a firmer hand she’ll have to take.

“Zula, you know it wasn’t her fault.” A softer voice stops Ursa in her tracks. She didn’t realize her nephew was home.

“Lu!”

There’s a muffled thump (a smaller body colliding with a much larger one) and Lu Ten’s warm chuckle. The mirth fades into a hiss. “What hap — “

Azula mutters something Ursa can’t catch.

“That’s not nothing.”

Another muttler that sends Lu Ten sighing in what can only be exasperation (is it?). “Zula, you know I know those forms. You know you can tell me things, right?”

If her daughter responds, Ursa can’t even hear the barest whisper of it.

“All right,” the young man breathes out, sounding resigned (sounding sad, some kind of grief she’s never heard from him before). “Can I show you a trick I learned, then? My captain taught it to me.”

Ursa hears two pairs of footsteps fade off down the hall, away from her, and she finds herself wondering what she missed.

(At least her daughter still lets her cousin inside her walls. She doesn’t know if she should risk breaching that trust, or if it will cause everything to come tumbling down.)

—-

The sound of Zuko’s sniffles send her and Ozai running. She finds him in his room, curled up miserably on his bed and rubbing his eyes. Azula stands in the corner, scowl on her face and a pile of ashes at her feet. “Dearest, what’s wrong?” Ursa asks, immediately going to comfort the boy.

He looks up, eyes still a bit teary. “I was trying to share! Azula said she didn’t know anything about the Blue Spirit, so I wanted to help and show her and I gave her the scrolls, you know, the ones with the really pretty calligraphy, and she just burned them!” It all comes out in a rush; he’s not even trying to breathe right, he’s so upset. 

Ursa sees Azula open her mouth, no doubt to say something cutting. “What do you have to say for yourself, young lady?” It’s fairly obvious what the truth is; the pile of ashes is still faintly smoking. Ursa gives it a pointed look. “Did you burn the scrolls?”

Azula’s scowl gets even fiercer. “I didn’t want the stupid scrolls.”

Well, that’s an answer.

Ozai clears his throat, and the scowl is wiped away as if it were never there. “Azula,” he says, sounding deeply disappointed. “You know better than to destroy your brother’s things.” He sighs and puts a hand on her shoulder. “Come along. It appears you and I need to have another talk about these things.”

Ozai guides the child out the door. Azula looks back a moment at herself and Zuko sitting side-by-side on the bed. She then whips her head forward, and walks out, trailing half a step behind Ozai at his side.

Ursa gathers Zuko close to comfort him. She says the right words, and he calms down, but she has a hard time remembering what she said. Instead her mind replays the sight of her daughter following so closely behind her father.

(When Ursa dreams that night, she dreams of golden eyes with pupils blown wide.)

(She can never seem to reach.)

—-

There is something she is missing. Something lurking underneath the gilt and gold of the palace, something lurking underneath the treachery and seduction in the court. It’s closer than that, like a tree in the center of the garden, roots stretching out unseen yet there beneath the feet. It’s the thing one would only notice in its absence.

Ursa stares at the tree in the center of the garden and wonders. Wonders how many generations it has seen play beneath its branches and how many more will find a home in the shadows it casts. How many times has it flowered, for only a short period of beauty, before the blood-red petals fall? (They make the ground look like it is covered in blood and fire. Beauty and danger and horror, all chasing each other. How apt is it, for this place?)

Zuko screams.

Ursa races through the garden, all other thoughts out of her head other than that mother beast screaming in her mind ( _protect protect protect_ her children are in danger and they _need_ her). She bursts into the clearing by the pond, looks for the assassin in the shadows she needs to rend limb from limb with her bare hands.

Zuko is on the ground, wide-eyed and teary. Azula remains solid in the finishing stance of a firebending kata. There’s the smell of roasted meat and burnt feathers coming from the turtleduck motionless in the dirt.

There is no assassin.

Ursa blinks.

Zuko’s tears disappear as his face morphs into anger. He scrambles to his feet. “Azula!” he shouts.

Yes, it’s quite obvious what has happened here.

Ursa grabs her daughter by the arm and yanks Azula towards her. The girl stumbles but does not fall. She keeps her grip on the skinny arm as she hauls the girl behind her, striding back to the residence wing of the palace. “For Agni’s sake, I have no idea what is wrong with this child,” she mutters under her breath as she reaches Azula’s room and drags her inside.

Azula stumbles slightly over the threshold. “It bit Zuko!” she yelps.

Ursa turns, and levels her sternest glare at the girl. “And that’s why you lit a _turtleduck_ on _fire_?”

Azula looks...

“It bit Zuko,” she repeats.

Azula looks _bewildered_.

Ursa...pauses. She pinches the bridge of her nose. “It bit Zuko, so you...threw fire at it?”

Azula hesitates a second, then nods. “He got hurt, and...he shouldn’t get hurt? I’m supposed to keep him from getting hurt.”

This almost makes _sense_. Agni, what is with this girl’s mind? Ursa is sure this would make so much more sense if turtleducks were known to be vicious monsters that had a taste for princes or...whatever it is she’s convinced herself. Because it’s clear that Azula sees nothing she did as _wrong_.

Ursa brings her hands up to rub her temples. Then pauses. That’s...her hand hurts. Like she was gripping something far too tightly and suddenly let go.

That was the hand that had been gripping Azula’s arm.

Ursa blanches. She pulls the girl closer (gently) as she falls to her knees. “Oh honey, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Azula looks at her blankly. Tilts her head slightly to the side. “You didn’t hurt me.”

Ursa’s hand flutters over her daughter’s arm, not daring to lay a finger on her lest she cause more harm. Her hand _aches_. “I didn’t realize I was gripping so tightly. I’m so sorry.”

Her daughter looks at her like she’s never seen her before, utter bafflement written all over her face. “You didn’t hurt me,” she repeats.

(Ursa is not reassured. Some part of herself deep inside her mind is baying for blood.

She does not know why.)

—-

Word comes back from the front. Word comes back from Ba Sing Se.

Lu Ten is dead.

(Ursa does not hear the sobs she was expecting when she walks past her daughter’s closed door.)

(She walks past, then goes back. The door is locked and Azula will not answer to let her in.)

—-

Ursa finds herself wondering if this is what soldiers feel like, when they have to fight Earthbenders. Does the world feel unsteady beneath their feet? Do they have a word to describe when what they thought was solid ground crumbles underneath them, when they dare look down and see nothing but a gaping abyss that’s ready to swallow them whole, grind everything they knew into dust and broken pieces? Is it dark down there, where no light reaches and no fire can burn because all the air has been sucked from their lungs? Does it feel like a slow-motion drowning with not a drop of water anywhere?

She was going to tuck her children into bed. That was the plan. That is what she does every night. (Doesn’t she?) She found Zuko distraught, again, over something Azula had told him. Again.

_“Azula said grandfather wants to kill me.”_

Ursa knows the words. The words make sense. The words do not make sense in that order. 

_“I know Azula always lies but...Mom, I can’t stop thinking about it!”_

She settled him as best she could, told him he’ll be fine, that of course his grandfather wouldn’t order his father to kill him. Ozai loves Zuko, loves him enough to burn the world for him. Zuko is fine. Zuko is safe.

She needed to talk to Azula. Needed to see what thing got twisted in that girl’s head that would make her torture her brother like this. Ursa knew she’d worked herself up into a fury, into an anger without a target, and maybe she should have regretted that she was going to confront an eight-year-old in this state.

She flung open Azula’s door and all those thoughts fell out of her mind.

Azula has a knife in her belt and her hair tied back. Azula is dressed in dark colors and has a map of the palace on her desk. (Azula looks like she is going to war.) She looks up from it when Ursa enters the room and sees the blankest expression she has ever seen on her daughter’s face.

“Azula,” Ursa says slowly. (This is a trap, this is wrong, there is something wrong) “Zuko was upset. He said you told him something.”

Azula remains still, just staring at her mother. Her eyes are hunter-cold. (There is something wrong, this is not a child, there are monsters lurking here)

Ursa’s eyes flick to the map on the desk. It’s the Fire Lord’s chambers. She looks back at her daughter. “Azula, what are you doing?”

“I need to kill the Fire Lord.”

There’s a howling in Ursa’s mind, the words are damning why are they coming out of her child’s mouth, doesn’t she know the walls have ears? (Of course she does) “What?”

Azula answers in that same, perfectly reasonable tone. “I have to kill the Fire Lord, Mother.”

And Ursa knows she is not joking.

Azula tilts her head slightly, as if she can sense her mother does not understand. “He wants our Honored Father to kill Zuko. So I have to kill him.”

“Your father wouldn’t hurt Zuko.”

“No,” Azula says agreeably, turning back to the map. “Honored Father loves Zuko.” She makes a mark on the map. “But he will try something else. You do not say no to the Fire Lord. So for Zuko to live, the Fire Lord must die.”

“Azula,” Ursa tries, scrambling to make something make sense (pieces start clicking together in the back of her mind). “Azula, you’re eight years old. You can’t...you will die.”

Her daughter nods and does not look up from the paper. “I know.”

Ursa manages to cross the room in three strides and drops to her knees, spinning Azula around so she can look her daughter in the eye. Azula still has that blank look on her face and Ursa is starting to wonder if there is anything more terrifying.

“Azula, honey, please,” she begs. “I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”

Her daughter blinks, and there’s suddenly a slight confusion in her eyes. This is not reassuring. This is the opposite of reassuring. Ursa does not understand her child, does not understand her child’s mind, but Ursa knows that something is not right. And her child does not understand.

“Zuko will die, because you have to obey the Fire Lord. Zuko can’t die. The Fire Lord can’t be obeyed if he’s dead. Then Zuko will be safe.”

Azula says it like she’s stating simple facts, like she doesn’t understand what her mother is failing to see. The sky is blue. The light of Agni is warm. Zuko will die if their grandfather does not.

There’s a gaping maw where Ursa’s stomach used to be. Ursa is certain that she is falling, and she does not know where the ground is. (She knows it’s going to hurt when she hits it) But she can’t stop, not now. She needs to try. She needs to figure out this maze that is Azula’s thoughts because she’s starting to think there is a monster in here and her daughter needs her mother to slay it.

“Honey...why do you have to do it?”

Azula blinks. “I’m supposed to, Mother. That’s what I’m useful for.”

Ursa hears the monster in the center of this maze. She hears it breathing.

“What? Why do you think...?”

She knows what this monster looks like. She thinks she’s known for a very long time.

“That’s what Honored Father said.” Azula frowns slightly, head tilted to the side like an inquisitive wolf-cat pup. “Honored Father told me I’m the one who needs to protect Zuko, at any cost.”

She’s serious. Her eight-year-old daughter is actually serious. What has Ozai been telling her? What has she been learning? Because this...this isn’t taking one conversation out of context. This isn’t a childish misunderstanding, a mistake of misaimed responsibility. There is a conviction in her child’s voice, and it is that conviction that wraps around Ursa’s heart and _squeezes_.

Azula is standing in front of her, and Ursa stares at her as she’s never done before. She’s small, thin. No, not thin. Wiry, too much lean muscle for her age. She’s baby fat and sharp edges, bright eyes of hunter gold and dark circles underneath. She is a shadow in a child’s skin, a child that shouldn’t exist because children are not meant to be this way.

(There’s a monster at the door and he’s already devouring one of the children.)

Azula’s shirt is a little big for her. It slips a little off her shoulder, and Ursa suddenly thinks the room has gotten very, very cold. There are marks on her baby’s skin. There are scars like a tree on her baby’s skin, branching off to follow a broken path along her baby’s shoulder, and Ursa does not have to see it all to know that it has carved lines into Azula’s back.

There are marks on her baby’s skin because someone has struck her baby with lightning.

(There’s a monster at the door, and there’s a beast in her mind howling.)

Azula follows the line of her gaze and frowns faintly. “Honored Father says I need to know how the lightning feels before I can master it. I’m not there yet.” She sounds saddened.

Ursa wants to scoop her baby up and wrap her in blankets. She wants to sooth the hurts, make these damned scars go away. She wants the world to spin backwards so she can stop this from happening, whenever this started happening, because how long has this been right in front of her, but she refused to see?

(She wondered why Ozai was always “Honored Father” while she was simply “Mother”. How long has this been happening?)

She remembers finding Lu Ten and Azula in the grass years ago. She thinks she knows what the boy was saying then. How did he know?

Not that it matters. None of this matters, not right now, not right here, in this night when she stares at her baby girl prepare herself to die trying to save her brother. She will lose at least one of her children this night: her son to his grandfather’s word and father’s ambition, or her daughter to the fire.

Ursa does not like either of these two options.

So she chooses a third.

(There’s a monster at the door and a monster in the shadows. But that’s all right, baby girl. 

Because they don’t know mama is a monster too.)

—-

Ursa walks quickly through the darkened hallways. She’s running out of time, but there is something she needs to do. She managed to convince Azula not to throw her life away, that this time it is Mother’s job. (She had to tell her that she could not protect her brother if she’s dead and there’s a part of Ursa that died when she had to use those words.)

Mother will take care of things. ( _If only this once, please trust me, baby girl._ )

Ursa tucked her daughter into bed for one last time. Left her safe for at least one night. She could guarantee this one night. She hates that she cannot promise her more, not even to herself. (She hates that she has only given her this one.)

The empty poison bottle in her robe feels far heavier than it is. But Ursa knows she needed to kill the Fire Lord, or else her children will die.

(The poison was deceptively easy to make, once she burned that fact into her mind. A poison catalyzed by the most common antidote in the Fire Nation. Azulon drank the tea without a suspicion. He even complimented her on the taste.)

(Deep in his chambers, Fire Lord Azulon will go to sleep in his bed after speaking with his second son. He will not see the sunrise.)

But now, Ursa is running out of time and she has something she needs to do before she leaves for good. Her children will not die tonight. No matter what else his sins, Ozai will encircle his children like a dragon, turning fire and teeth onto the outside world who threatens them. Ursa rails against having to leave her children behind, but she has no delusions about her own survival. The only place she can flee to outside the Dragon Throne’s reach is the Earth Kingdom, right into the jaws of a beast that would gladly rend the flesh from her bones. (The Earth Kingdom would set her children’s heads on pikes, bury their bodies in earth where the flames cannot touch them, leave their spirits trapped in a tomb forever. Young dragons are still dragons, and even young dragons still have claws.)

She can accept this fate, if it means her children will live.

She quietly slips into Zuko’s room. If she has to leave for the sake of her children, she will not leave without seeing them one last time.

Apparently, she did not slip in quietly enough. Zuko rolls over and sits up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Mom?” He looks at her, and she can’t hide the cloak about her shoulders or the bag on her back. Zuko’s eyes grow wide, scared. “Mom? What’s going on?”

She hushes him, sitting down on the bed. He scoots backwards, eyes not leaving her face. “Mom?” he asks in a very small voice.

Ursa brushes dark hair away from his face. He always had such fluffy, soft hair, even as a baby. She’ll miss this. “I’m sorry, Zuko,” she says softly. “I need to go away for awhile.”

“Wh— why? What—” He quiets when she softly places a finger on his lips. He can’t be shouting, not now. Not if she wants this to work, wants to have successfully bought her children’s safety.

“It’s complicated. I’m sorry I don’t have time to explain everything, honey. But you need to know that I love you and your sister so very much. I wish I could stay and watch you, but I can’t.” She smiles at him, tries to ignore the way her heart is breaking as tears fall from his eyes. (Zuko always was a sensitive boy.) “I’m so proud of you. Don’t ever forget that, okay? You’re going to be great, Zuko, and I’ll always be proud of you.”

Greatness. Zuko will be great one day. It’s what her husband has been saying, ever since he was born. All the work and encouragement for her boy’s future. Ursa never questioned it before. How could she? How could she question a desire to see her child have the best? But now, looking at his little tear-streaked face, she wonders if it’s worth it. If Zuko’s future greatness is worth the sacrifices, the lives thrown into the pyre.

What worth does greatness have without goodness?

The moon is high in the sky. She’s running out of time if she wants to make it to the ship that will take her out of the Fire Nation by dawn. She needs to leave now, and she curses herself. If only she had more time, if only she could spare some words for Azula, the child she didn’t even know was so lost until a few hours ago.

(Ursa hates herself more for this than she thought was possible.)

Ursa looks to her son. “Zuko...I’m going to ask you to make me a promise, okay?”

Zuko nods, quiet and serious. She does not deserve this boy.

“I need you to look out for your sister, okay?” He frowns a little, but says nothing. Ursa feels like she needs to explain (how do you explain something you don’t even fully understand?). “She...she needs you, okay? Even if she can’t or doesn’t always show it. You were so good with her when you were small. She needs her big brother to look out for her and protect her. Can you do that for me, Zuko?”

Zuko looks at her, and she can read him like a book. It’s easy, when he wears his feelings so plainly. She can see the moment he decides to listen, the moment he decides to acquiesce, the moment he carves the request like an edict into his soul and makes it a part of himself. (Her boy never could do anything by half-measures.)

“Okay Mom,” he says, serious and quiet, “You can count on me.”

Can goodness start by saving one person?

Ursa hugs her son, tries to memorize the shape of him into her soul, the feel of his warm (fire-warm) skin and soft hair, the memory of his voice and breath, and tries not to cry.

And then she’s gone. She does not look back.

(If she looks back, she will break, and her children will burn.)

—-

Azula understands the rules. There are ways in which the world must work, and she has spent a long time (painful time) working out each of them. Fire will burn. Zuko is her prince. Honored Father should be obeyed. She knows these things with absolute certainty and she can no more change them than she can change any other rule of reality.

She thinks things would be so much simpler if everyone else understood these rules. People are confusing. People say things they do not mean, they lie with their smiles and with their frowns. They say one thing and mean another, and Azula needs to peel back all of their layers to figure it all out. If she can figure out how people work, then she can understand their rules, and then she can make them act the way she needs them to. She will not have to worry about them as a threat.

There are so many threats now. She needs to be able to meet them.

Things changed in the palace, after Mother left. Honored Father became the Fire Lord and Zuko became the Crown Prince. Azula thinks this is much better than the alternative. That alternative was an aberration, something that should not happen, and of course the world righted itself. She supposes she is glad that she didn’t die. She can continue to be useful.

That’s the important thing. Honored Father says that there is no use in broken things, and keeping things you cannot use is sentimental nonsense. Only the weak cling to the things that cannot help them.

Azula is not weak. Azula cannot afford to be weak. 

(Weakness is a luxury. _Zuko_ is allowed weakness, because Zuko has her to watch his back. She must always watch out for him, because he has more important things to do.)

Azula stares at the blue flame in her hands. Beyond the flickering light, she sees a servant leave fresh water and a clean towel for her before departing. They know better than to stay. She knows they fear her, fire and tongue and teeth, knows they whisper in the halls after her. This is fine, this is right. If they fear her, then they know what she can do, and they know not to harm what is hers. They let her move in the shadows she needs to because they do not bother to look after her.

This is the way it should be. Azula needs to stand alone.

(Don’t think about Mother’s last look, don’t think about her face that last time, don’t think about safety and warmth. These are lies. They are wrong. They did not happen and Azula needs to stop thinking about things she cannot have.)

She extinguishes the flame and finishes her cool-down set before leaving the dojo. No one stops her. She actually has a moment to herself, and she treasures these rare breaks in the schedule her Honored Father created for her. There’s not a lot she can do in these moments, but she’ll make use of it. She can do her favorite thing.

Azula turns on her heel and slips towards the garden to find Zuko.

Zuko is sitting by the turtleduck pond. Of course he is. (Azula suppresses a shudder. If Honored Father saw that...) He has a frown on his face and he’s staring at the turtleducks; he’s not even feeding them.

She lets a twig snap under her foot.

“What do you want, Azula?” he grumbles, not bothering to look at her.

She’s not sure how to answer him. He’s been upset, ever since the night Mother left. She knows he’s been irritable, and it sounds like he doesn’t want her here.

“I was looking for you, Zuzu.” She hesitates a second over the nickname. Honored Father says she’s too old to call him by such childish things, but Zuko seems to like it. Or he hasn’t said he doesn’t. Maybe she should stop.

He twists around, his face going red and eyes sharp. She stills, goes quiet. He’s not making sense, she did something wrong. (Did Zuko’s rules change?)

Then he...stops. His lips turn down, and he looks like he does when she accidentally breaks one of his things (she’s gotten better! She has! She doesn’t know what she broke now, and it’s not fair because she’s trying and he’s looking at her like that and what if Honored Father sees and —)

Zuko has his arms around her shoulders.

Azula blinks.

She didn’t even realize he stood up. Why is he here? What is he doing? She can’t move, but should she even try? Azula squeezes her eyes shut and tries to make the world make sense. She should leave. She shouldn’t be here. She should go back to training, because she needs to be useful and this does not serve that purpose.

Azula doesn’t move. Zuko does not let her go.

(She’s late for training, but she thinks it was worth it.)

—-

Zuko brought _friends_ to the Palace. 

He’ll deny it, but Azula spies the girl with the flat mouth and disinterested look (even though Azula can see her eyes flicking over everything, taking in her surroundings and constantly evaluating. She might be acceptable company for her brother) and the loud girl who smiles with too many teeth to _not_ be a threat. She knows the first one is the daughter of some official; Zuko must have met her at some social event. Maybe they come as a pair? But the smiling one moves erratically, too light on her feet to not be practiced, flitting about but paying more attention to Zuko.

“Hey! Azula!” Zuko calls out, apparently having spied her across the courtyard. She’s on her way to training, but the sight of two kids their age with Zuko distracted her. He runs towards her. Azula pauses and turns to face him, letting her head tilt slightly to the side.

(She doesn’t even have to ask Zuko. He understands! It makes her gut feel warm and her blood feel fuzzy when he does it.)

“Come on, I want to introduce you to Mai and Ty Lee,” he says when he’s right in front of her. “I think you’ll like them!”

Azula blinks. “I...have training...” she trails off. This is true. She knows she can’t skip. Honored Father is supposed to be there.

Zuko looks at her with wide eyes, eyebrows pulled up. It’s a ridiculous expression. “Can’t you skip it just this once? Come play just this once.”

That...Zuko just gave her an order. Zuko has never done that. Honored Father should be obeyed, but Honored Father has said Zuko’s orders are absolute. Azula is supposed to listen to Zuko. She’s repeated it enough that she thinks it’s carved deep into her bones and branded on her soul, the keystone in the web she’s crafted in her mind to scaffold her reality. (She knew this even when the fire and the exhaustion made her forget her own name: _Listen to Zuko_ )

Breaking that rule could break her.

Honored Father is waiting for training. Zuko wants her here.

“Okay, Zuko.”

Surely Honored Father will understand.

(Honored Father decides she needs more practice. After, Azula wakes up in her bed with the taste of medicine on her tongue and another lightning scar on her back.)

—-

“Come on, Azula. You enjoyed it last time, right?”

Mai and Ty Lee are here again.

“I...really have to go,” Azula says and runs off to training where Honored Father is waiting. She doesn’t look back to see the disappointed look on Zuko’s face.

(Honored Father is more displeased when he hears. On the positive side, Azula managed to coat her arm in electricity this time, lightning bending for the first time.)

—-

Zuko keeps inviting the two girls over. Azula can’t always avoid him, so when he asks (orders) her to join them, she does. She tries making it happen less, tries insults and snide commentary, anything she can think of to make the girls decide it's not worth their time.

Because she really isn’t sure why he keeps inviting them. He seems to enjoy himself more when he sees her interacting with them. And insults don’t work either. She’s not sure Ty Lee (the one who smiles with too many teeth and Azula wonders if that’s her natural state) even realizes what an insult is. Meanwhile, every time she tries, Mai just gives her a look that sees more than she lets on. Azula is pretty sure insults are supposed to have the _opposite_ effect.

It doesn’t matter. She’ll deal with the consequences. She always does.

—-

Azula curls up tighter in the shadows, watching the generals argue-agree with Honored Father in the War Room from her hidden perch near the ceiling. She doesn’t really care what they are saying. Disgraced Uncle Iroh has dragged Zuko into this eel-shark pit and so Azula needs to keep her eyes on her brother.

(Honored Father’s mouth always twists downwards when he speaks of Disgraced Uncle Iroh. Zuko’s eyes always brighten whenever he sees Disgraced Uncle Iroh. Azula isn’t sure what to think. She knows not to call him anything else, because Honored Father’s hands get warm if she does.)

(Honored Father’s hands get warm a lot. Azula’s tried to figure out what causes it. She tried being more like Zuko but that didn’t keep them cool. She tried mimicking Honored Father, and that only made them warmer. She’s sure if she can figure out the rules, this will make sense.)

Zuko seems agitated. One of the generals (she can’t remember his name) is laying out a plan, involving sending a battalion of recruits into a doomed situation, using them as bait. Zuko’s frown gets deeper and deeper the more the general talks. Azula knows what’s going to happen. Zuko cares too much.

“Why?” he demands. “Why do we have to sacrifice them? This is the 41st’s first deployment! It’s not right! We shouldn’t just let them die because it’s the _easiest_ option!”

Honored Father takes a moment, looks directly at Zuko. Zuko stares back, spine straight. Azula can see Honored Father smile. “Such honorable tactics,” he says in the now-silent room. He turns to his general. “Well? Can you explain yourself?”

The general’s eyes are wide, but he clears his throat and stands straighter. “The Honorable Prince is correct, that we should not value the lives of our brave soldiers so cheaply. But their sacrifice will allow our veterans to maneuver, draw the Earth Kingdom forces into a more favorable position. We spend less of their lives.” The general bows deeply. “Were our enemies all as honorable as the prince, this war would not require such sacrifices.”

(Azula narrows her eyes. What is this man’s name? She wracks her brain trying to remember. He may be a threat.)

Honored Father nods at the general. “Thank you for sharing your wisdom with my son,” he says before turning to Zuko. “It is the unfortunate reality that we live in, Zuko, where we have to favor the stronger forces.”

Zuko looks dissatisfied, but steps back, bows, and returns to his seat.

He doesn’t speak for the rest of the meeting. Azula can see his gaze is focused on the tiny figures representing the doomed battalion on the map.

The meeting ends and Azula unfolds herself from her perch as the generals file out. She can make it out of here and to her lessons before anyone realizes she eavesdropped. Slipping between shadows and behind a tapestry, she eases her way out of the meeting room and into the hall. The generals are still filing out, and the hallway is busy enough that no one will notice her as she moves past them.

She’s not even thinking about the meeting when she hears it.

“Agni help us.” It’s the general who Zuko confronted. He’s muttering to a circle of his peers, but loud enough that it’s obvious he doesn’t really care who overhears him. “We’d be better off under the Water Savages if that soft-hearted idiot manages to survive long enough to take the Dragon Throne.”

Azula stops dead in her tracks. There’s a rush in her head, like a flame devouring air. (This is a threat, there is a threat they insulted Zuko they want Zuko _dead._ )

(You know what you have to do, Azula.)

“How dare you,” she whispers. Suddenly, everything is very quiet. Azula looks up over the roaring in her ears to stare into the startled face of the general (Koeda, that’s his name. General Koeda. Someone who needs to _know his place_ ). “You dare utter that slander, in these halls? In front of the Fire Lord?”

Honored Father is watching. She knows this. (She always knows when his eyes rest upon her back) (She knows Zuko is also watching. She doesn’t want to know what his expression is.)

Koeda’s eyes slide towards her, then flick away dismissively. “Do not insult my honor.”

Azula laughs, forcing it into a harsh register that never fails to make adults bristle and does not fail her now. “Honor? What honor? You insult and threaten because you can’t back it up.” She eyes him. “I hear rumors, you know.”

Koeda starts choking. (That’s a fascinating reaction. She’ll have to remember that. She wonders if that simple sentence would work on other people too.) Everyone is now watching this scene play out. Koeda does not notice or he does not care. “How _dare_ you,” he sputters.

Honored Father starts laughing. All eyes turn to him. “Well, well, well. This is the second of my children who you’ve crossed today, General Koeda.” Koeda flushes. “I think they might have a point. If you are worried about your honor, settle it in an Agni Kai.”

Zuko gapes. “Father, you...Azula is _eleven_.”

Honored Father pins her with his gaze. “And if she’s going to wield her tongue at a general of the Fire Nation, she should be capable enough when words fail.”

Azula stands still, barely breathing, but does not waver. If she needs to fight an Agni Kai, if Honored Father decrees that she fight an Agni Kai, she will fight in an Agni Kai.

Zuko stares at her like he’s never seen her before. It’s weird. She needs to do this, she’s supposed to do this.

That’s all there is to it.

—-

The general is good.

Azula is better.

Koeda kneels before her as she casually extinguishes the blue flames that surround them. He will not trouble her brother again. She can accept his surrender gracefully.

(From where he watches, the Fire Lord’s eyes narrow.)

—-

Azula doesn’t hear the door to her bedroom open that night. (It wouldn’t have made a difference.) She only jolts awake when she realizes someone is watching her. Two burning gold eyes stare down at her in the dark from the foot of her bed.

Azula’s mouth feels dry.

“I,” Honored Father whispers, “have apparently been too _lax_. Too _indulgent_.”

Azula can’t move, not now, not when his gaze scorches hotter than her flames, not when he stares at her and finds her _wanting_. She knows she’s breathing too fast, too hard. Her heart is jumping wildly in her chest and she needs to regulate her breathing, get it under control.

Honored Father’s lips twist into a sneer. “You’ve gotten ideas into your head, Azula. Do you think I had you fight that Agni Kai as a test? I did. And you failed.”

Azula’s breath stops in her throat.

“A child. Defeating a general of the Fire Nation? How will our enemies react to that? You’ve endangered us all. Worse, you endangered your _brother_.”

She can’t even move before Honored Father is holding her down, one hand pinning her right shoulder to the bed, the other cradling the left side of her jaw. He looks down on her, eyes colder than she’s ever seen them. (Cold in judgement because Azula has been found _wanting_ )

She can’t pull any air into her lungs, can’t breathe, can’t even think about calling blue flames to her hands to her arms, to do anything but lay there frozen. 

“You will learn to hold your tongue, and suffering will be your teacher.”

Honored Father’s hands _burn_.

Azula screams.

His hands are still burning when the darkness devours her. She didn’t stop screaming until then.

—-

When Azula wakes up, she is on a ship heading out of Fire Nation waters as quickly as possible. The only person on-board she knows is Disgraced Uncle Iroh.

The ship’s doctor has kind hands that try to soothe her aching shoulder. (He can do nothing more for her agonizing jaw, beyond keeping it wrapped.) His voice is even kinder when he breaks the news to her.

Honored Father has banished her. 

Azula doesn’t know what to do.


	2. and how i feel is like a child in a foreign place (far too alone)

Jian has seen a lot of things in his years. That’s honestly to be expected, what with being a doctor in the Fire Nation military. Funny how when you’re young, you don’t quite catch on to the fact that almost a hundred years of war mean a shitpile of bodies. Even more injuries, but those more often than not seem to be determined on which spirit won dice with Koh that day. Also known as if someone’s commander liked them, they actually had supplies, if their squad liked them, and maybe even the phase of the damn moon.

Which...was plausible, actually. He’d seen waterbenders in action and no thank you. Magic water or no magic water, he’d take his chances with the damn drugs.

Well, that’s what Jian would have told you had you asked him a week ago. Now, as he’s staring at his youngest patient in the infirmary, he’s considering revising that stance. Even if they were all on a boat.

He sighs and drops his head in his hands, resuming his make-shift vigil here.

Jian’s seen a lot. He didn’t intend to become a doctor, but when his first squad had been ambushed by Earthbenders, the only reason they didn’t all die was because he’d kept his shit together long enough to keep them all from bleeding out. For his success, the brass threw him into combat medic training and that was that. He’d spent battles like Hanzuo, Guanyu Pass, and Azure Valley up to his elbows in the blood and guts of his countrymen, trying desperately to keep old war-dogs and kids fresh out of training camp alive long enough to be sent out again.

He’d thought those days were the worst. Seeing kids barely old enough to shave crying out for their mothers, while he stitched wounds and treated burns just long enough to let them die on their feet, that nearly broke something inside of him. 

None of that compares to now. Jian’s seen horrible burns, but nothing really could have prepared him for the ones he’s treating now. The fact that they’ve been inflicted on a literal child destroys something inside of him. (The fact that the burns are on his nation’s princess is a distant secondary insult, because he looks at the small form swathed in white in the adult-sized bed and can see _nothing else_ )

Jian finds himself wondering if the Fire Nation is the great shining beacon in the world, what the hell are the other nations like? 

He can’t even care anymore if this is treason.

The kid whimpers in her sleep, twisting in the sheets in obvious pain. Jian grimaces before getting up to administer another dose of painkillers. He’s had to mash the herbs with water to make a slurry because the kid can’t even open her mouth to take a paste. He crouches down next to the bed and spoons the mixture into the little corner of her mouth that’s not covered in bandages. Running his fingers through her sweaty hair seems to help as well, and soon enough, the girl settles back down.

The princess hasn’t woken in a week.

It had been the dead of night when Jian had been roused from his bunk in the barracks and hustled over to the Palace. He had known he’d be shipping out the next day (on the ship _everyone knew_ was cursed, of course), so he’d been hoping he’d actually manage to get a full night’s sleep.

The spirits are _laughing_ at him, he swears.

Although, if they are, they really need to work on their senses of humor. Because he’d only managed to down a cup of lukewarm tea before having the grim Palace doctor hand him an armful of unconscious, grievously-injured royalty.

(“What happened?” he’d asked, staring in horror at the tiny bandaged face.

The head doctor had given him a grave look, full of old secrets buried in silences, voices only quieted by the grave. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

“She’s his daughter!” And he’s a military doctor, he’s not good enough to be at the Palace, what in Agni’s name was happening?

The doctor stared at the princess, at the child who was apparently no longer under his care, with a kind of sorrow that Jian felt could choke a man. “You’re lucky you don’t realize how little that means,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry. You’re her only chance now.”

And he turned around and walked out.)

It probably should have been harder to practically smuggle banished princesses onto military ships, but apparently someone had told his new captain — one Lt. Jee — who met Jian on the docks. The captain proved to be a fair hand as an assistant, and between the two of them, they’d managed to actually provide real treatment (treatment she should have gotten at the palace but hadn’t for some spirits-forsaken reason) before the ship had even set sail at first light.

Jian hasn’t left the infirmary since.

He probably should. He has new crewmates he should meet, because the young ones need to learn to not hide their spirits-damned injuries until it’s too late and right now is really the best time to put the fear of Agni into them. He should see the sun, talk to the crewmates he might have served with before, see what the actual hell they’re supposed to be doing on this boat. He should meet the Dragon of the West, who is also on this adventure into hell-knows-where, because that man has a _reputation_ and Jian has a morbid curiosity. He should actually take a real shower.

He gets the chair and sits next to the bed, just like he’s done for the past week.

Jian keeps track of time by doses of painkillers and changes of bandages. He knows the cook has been sending someone, because food appears and dishes disappear.

There’s a knock at the door.

And Jian’s been keeping track of time by the captain’s twice-daily visits. Once in the morning, once in the evening. Without fail. And always for the same reason.

“How’s she doing?” Lt. Jee asks after he closes the door behind himself. He keeps his voice soft, like the little girl is merely sleeping and he doesn’t want to wake her.

“The same,” Jian answers. “No infection.”

“Thank the spirits for small favors.”

Jian snorts. “‘Small’ is relative. Wound like that...”

Jee winces, still watching the child on the bed. “That’ll be a nasty scar.”

He doesn’t bother responding. Both of them know that’s an understatement. Whatever burned the princess’s face, it burned through her left cheek. (Jian remembers feeling faint when he first removed the palace bandages, seeing burned flesh and melted skin underneath. He could see her _teeth_ , for Agni’s sake.

Jee hadn’t been as lucky and lost his dinner.)

They both watch her silently for a while. Jee then asks the question he always does. “Has anyone else come by?”

Jian knows he means the General, knows he means _her uncle_. And he gives the same answer he always does. “No. Just you.”

He doesn’t have to turn to see the look on Jee’s face. He suspects he is making the same expression. The infirmary is silent except for the breathing of two men and the occasional whimpers of a little girl. Eventually, like always, Jee quietly leaves. He has the rest of the ship to worry about.

Jian stays in the infirmary.

—-

The princess wakes up ten days after they left port. She wakes up without a sound, and it’s only because Jian’s been watching her that he’s able to be right there. He watches from the bedside as gold eyes slowly blink back to focus. She’s so quiet, even though he knows she’s due for her next dose of painkillers soon. 

(Ten days in the infirmary. Ten days of this one room. Jian can’t even regret it because as soon as he sees those gold eyes creased in confusion, he can’t help but think what if she woke up alone?)

She makes a sound finally, a muffled word that’s swallowed by a low whine.

“Shhh,” he soothes, shifting so he’s in her field of vision. She focuses on him immediately, tracks the slow movement of his hands as he checks the bandages on her face and then brushes hair away from her temple. “Don’t try to talk. The bandages won’t let you, so you’ll just hurt yourself.”

She’s frozen under his touch, the lightest touch he can possibly give, and he can’t think about that. Instead, instead he continues to hold a one-sided conversation. “I won’t ask if you remember what happened.” She looks mildly surprised at that. It’s not like she can tell him, and even if she could, it’s not going to help right now. (There’s an official story about how the princess of the Fire Nation got injured. Jian believes it about as much as he believes in the otter-penguin global domination theory. So that leaves other theories that would probably get him arrested.) (Then again, he’s on _this_ boat.)

He sighs, folding his hands in front of him, still positioning himself in her line of sight. “My name is Jian. I’m a doctor. You’re on a Naval vessel, the _Enforcing the Way in Agni’s Name_. We’re ten days out of port from the Caldera.” He looks down. Jian doesn’t want to be the one to tell the kid what her father ruled, that she’s been banished from the only home she’s ever known and that the conditions for returning home involve an impossible quest.

When he looks up, she’s glaring at him. She obviously knows he’s not given her nearly enough information. From the strength of the glare, he supposes he should be glad one can’t actually firebend with their eyes or just with their mind. Otherwise, he’s pretty sure this kid would figure it out, because she clearly wants to set him on fire.

It’s adorable, really.

Jian smiles slightly. “I know. Let me check your shoulder first, then I’ll try to answer what I can.” 

That was definitely a huff, judging from how she pointedly stares at the ceiling. He’s certain that if she could actually move her shoulder, her arms would be crossed over her chest.

Seriously. _Adorable_.

Still, he has a job to do. He keeps his voice soft and steady as he describes what he’s doing when he changes the bandages over her shoulder, as he describes all her injuries. Her shoulder looks like it's healing nicely. She’ll have a scar and she’ll have work to do to get strength and motion back, but it’s healing. (She might never get back to how it was. The burn went deep, into muscle.) (It did not escape his notice that underneath the skin, the areas with the worst damage were in the shape of a large hand. An adult male hand.)

Satisfied, he ties the ends of the clean bandages together and sits back. The princess stays perfectly still throughout the entire process, although her eyes tracked his every slow, deliberate, gentle movement. She stares at him, clearly demanding the information that he promised.

There’s a knock at the door. Spirits, it’s that time already? Must be, since Lt. Jee enters. He immediately notices the princess’s updated state, as he pauses before closing the door. “Good morning, Your Highness,” he says quietly, a small smile on his face. “It’s good to see you awake.”

Jian clears his throat. “This is the captain of the ship, Lt. Jee.” He hesitates a moment. “He’s been checking on your status every day.”

Jee’s face is the picture of professionalism, and he stands with his stance rigid and hands carefully clasped behind his back. “Of course. As captain, I need to be aware of the condition of _everyone_ on my ship.”

Jian is watching her, which is how he catches the slight crinkle in her brow, as if she’s confused. (Never before in his life has Jian wished to be a firebender more than the moment he saw a child bewildered by the concept of basic human decency.) He knows Jee caught it too, judging from the way his fingers tighten out of the girl’s line of sight.

Not for the first time, Jian finds himself wondering what the hell Jee did to end up on _this_ boat. Then he finds himself answering his own question, because “basic human decency” is something the lieutenant has in spades. Which is good, because Jian has a promise to fulfill, and it’s probably for the best if the girl had someone around she wouldn’t be mad at.

“Captain, I was just about to finish informing Her Highness of her current...status,” he says, still carefully modulating his voice into a quiet and deliberate tone.

Jee, thank the Spirits, is quick on the uptake. “Very well. Please carry on.” He doesn’t move from his spot.

Jian nods then makes sure he has the princess’s full attention, refusing to waver in the face of her admittedly impatient stare. She deserves this much. “The day we left the Caldera, just before we were set to depart, the Fire Lord issued a proclamation. It was a notice of your banishment from the Fire Nation. All ports are to be closed to you, and should you set foot on Fire Nation soil, your life is forfeit.” He knows the words register, because her breathing gets more and more erratic as he speaks the damning words, as he has to inform this eleven-year-old child that she’s been thrown out of the only home she’s ever known.

He knows he has to continue. “He also placed a conditional on the banishment, a way for you to reverse it and come home.” Spirits, her look is so hopeful that Jian finds himself, not for the first time, wanting to take the Fire Lord by the shoulders and _shake_ him. “If you find the Avatar, and bring them to the Fire Nation in chains.”

The kid’s eyes are wide, and despite half her face being wrapped in bandages, he can see the disbelief plain as day. Entirely warranted disbelief, considering he just told her her one chance to return home is a damned spirit tale.

That otter-penguin global domination theory seems more likely.

Jian really wants a drink.

——-

Iroh receives the news that his niece is not dead and has finally woken up from one of the younger crewmembers, a boy by the name of Fai who looks younger than his own son did when he had his first deployment. Maybe he’s getting old, and everyone looks young to him now. Or maybe it’s the fact the boy looks like he wants to jump out of his skin every time he passes by Iroh. Sometimes, his reputation works against him.

He’s not sure if his current predicament is the fault of his reputation or his family, but he’s betting the latter. Iroh always thought that the person who named Fire Navy ships should be thrown into the sea, but the _Enforcing the Way in Agni’s Name_ took it to new heights. Certainly if ships could show resentment over that, it would explain this boat, which is charmingly nicknamed the _Pariah_ by the entire Navy. It is a well-earned nickname too, being the vessel with the most astonishing run of bad luck in all the fleets combined. In the history of the Fire Nation. It was a career-killing posting. Often literally.

Iroh hates his brother’s sense of humor.

That’s also the only explanation he has for the other half of his predicament. That being in addition to being on this cursed boat, he’s in functional banishment (he can read between the lines, brother). With his niece, whom from what he can remember seems worryingly devoted to her father, with a personality to match. And that means he’s not with his nephew, who is neck-deep in that pit of viper hornets known as the Fire Court and under the thumb of the aforementioned brother.

He worries about that boy, truth be told. Zuko is bright, almost too bright for the Palace, and it would be so very easy to snuff that out. Iroh knows exactly how life there works; he too was the shining star of his generation. (He doesn’t think about his own son, because if he did he’d drown the world in his grief, and he’s already adrift at sea.) But unlike himself, he sees hope in his nephew, a kind of honor and idealism he can admit he himself lacks or found too late. And time is precious. Zuko believes so ardently in his nation, in his people, that what they’re doing is _right_. He believes the version of the story they tell, of progress and freedom, of bringing prosperity and light to the rest of the world in darkness. Zuko believes it so fervently, Iroh fears when that illusion shatters, because without someone to catch him, the boy could become a villain worse than his grandfather or great-grandfather.

He needs to be there for his nephew, for his sake and the rest of the world’s. And Ozai sent him away, on this fool quest. Oh, his brother said pretty words about how he wanted Iroh to look after his “dearest daughter”, how no assassin would dare cross the great Dragon of the West, and a bunch of other nonsense. Because if Ozai has one skill, it’s in weaving pretty words strong enough to make the threads that puppet nations. Iroh’s only defense is that he knew the man from the cradle, so he knows when he is being “managed” and hates it. 

Iroh sips his tea.

Still, he supposes he’s glad his niece hasn’t joined the Spirit World. Miniature copy of his brother or not, the idea of dying children has never sat easily with him. It was the one failing Azulon couldn’t excise. In a way, that he lost his throne to the death of a child was probably a foregone conclusion.

A slight commotion breaks Iroh from his thoughts. He’s been enjoying sitting in the mess rather than his assigned quarters, because watching the crew is such a fascinating experience. (And also a habit, from the days when he needed to assess his men. He learned a lot from watching them at meal-times.) Now, he assesses the man who just entered. He’s reedy, with a slight slump to his shoulders and uniform in disarray. He also looks like he hasn’t shaved in days. Iroh has an excellent memory, and so he’s fairly certain this must be Jian, the ship’s doctor he has yet to meet. From the noises Enlai the cook is making, this might be the first time many of the crew members have seen the man.

Iroh watches their exchange, so he’s one of the only people who are not startled when Enlai barks out “Yuka!”

A young crewmember nearly trips over her own boots in her haste to stand. “Yes sir?”

Enlai blinks. “Don’t call me sir. And help the doc here take the food back to the infirmary.” He shoves a few trays at her, and Iroh is quietly impressed at her ability to balance all of them, as she appears to instantly adjust her balance to the rocking of the boat.

“That’s a lot of food,” Jian weakly protests.

“You said the princess said she was hungry, so I’m feeding her,” Enlai grouses. “And you look like you haven’t eaten in days, doc. We’re all screwed if you go down.”

The doctor seems to know when to pick his battles, and sighs in defeat. He leads the young woman out.

Iroh frowns slightly. Azula just woke up and is already ordering people around? He knows meals had been dropped off at the infirmary regularly; he’s passed by junior crewmembers delivering them. He’s tried to stay out of their way. Iroh has been in the military long enough (far too long) to know better than to make a nuisance of himself in a medic’s domain. That’s a lesson the army teaches very quickly: if you’re in the infirmary, listen to the damn medic and stay out of their way. In fact, don’t even go near the medics unless you need one right then. And also to make sure you need them, because they will make your life _miserable_ if you are even suspected of wasting their time.

Doctor Jian looks like the type of man those warnings are whispered about, and the part of Iroh that remembers being a raw recruit cringes at the idea of crossing him.

Still, there’s a part of him that’s prowling like the angry dragon they named him for at the fact he’s keeping away. Azula might be his brother’s child, molded in his image, but she’s still a child. Maybe she’ll be better with time away from him.

This would be so much less daunting if she were more like Zuko. Iroh genuinely enjoyed time spent with his nephew. Part of that might have been because Zuko was the older child, so he was easier to relate to. Not only because of Iroh’s own status as first-born, but also because the reality of his times away from the palace meant that the boy was more of a real person when he did see him. His sister, on the other hand, seemed to have gone from knowing five words total to mimicking Ozai’s worst traits. Iroh has gone through that experience once already and is in no hurry to repeat the experience.

He sighs and reheats his tea. At least he made sure to pack enough of it.

——-

Azula being awake means that Iroh gets plenty of opportunity to observe her when Doctor Jian finally lets her out of his infirmary. (Presumably so the man can get some sleep. Or a shower.) He didn’t realize how severe the injuries were. Oh, the captain had told him that her face was burned as well as her shoulder, and she had been unconscious for over a week, but he hadn’t really registered it. Gifted firebenders, after all, don’t get burned. And beyond anything else, Iroh knows his niece is a gifted firebender.

So seeing her with over half her face wrapped in bandages, covering her mouth completely? That’s a surprise.

He sees her try to hide the shoulder injury, ridiculous as that is with the bulky bandages clearly visible under her shirt. Iroh isn’t sure if it’s the bandages or the injury that is restricting her movements. Whatever the case, she’s having trouble with bending. Unsurprising, really, considering that was part of the reason they taught katas in the first place. Movements aided breath and control, and fire is breath; they tie the concepts together to make it easier for young firebenders (young benders, really) to learn. For all Ozai spoke of her talent, Azula is still young enough that she’s still more form than improvisation.

The interesting side effect Iroh observes from these two facts appears in her interactions with the crew. With the bandages inhibiting her ability to speak and her firebending, she’s forced to rely on glares and her attempts at mind control to get the crew to listen to her. Azula’s glares might be impressive, for a child, but the crew on this ship are jaded enough to be beyond her talents, judging from some of the bemused expressions they get when they acquiesce to whatever she wants.

The indulgence troubles Iroh. Possibly because he’s not sure if it’s actually indulgence or from fear of when she gets the bandages removed. He knows the girl has a reputation of her own, because he knows palace servants talk to palace guards who in turn talk to soldiers. Even _he’s_ heard rumors about how there was “something off” about his brother’s youngest, a rumor that is always followed by dark looks and somber expressions.

(Iroh remembers a conversation he overheard in a tea shop in the Capital once. There was a group of young enlisted men sharing a table. He guesses they did not notice him, because he’s certain they would not have spoken as they did if they had.

“I heard there’s something off with the princess,” one said quietly.

“What? No...shit, you’re serious?” One of his friends sounded worried. Iroh remembers the way troops would warn each other about problematic postings, of commanders to be wary of.

The first one nodded. A third barked out hysterical laughter before he’s shushed by the rest of them. “We,” he said, breathless and wild, “are in so much trouble. If she’s that...”

“How do you even know?” hissed the second.

“My sister works at the Palace. Worked.” He paused. “She came home in tears and said she couldn’t take it anymore. She’d quit.” He sounded grim. “Said it was the princess.”

They sat in silence for awhile. The third spoke again. “We are so screwed.”)

Right now, Iroh is watching his niece attempt to bully the ship’s navigator into...something. He’s not quite sure what, because it looks like a staring contest between Azula’s glare and Sub-Lt. Shika’s perfected placid look. He’s also not sure who could claim to win this, even though Shika ultimately bent down to show the girl how to work her navigation instruments. Judging from Azula’s eyebrows, this may or may not have been what she actually wanted.

That’s how most of these interactions with the crew go. More or less. He witnessed young Fai all but dive out of her way once rather than be forced to attempt to talk to her. Although that’s still less troubling than Chief Engineer Tsui’s reaction. Even Azula seemed taken aback by the engineer’s manic grin. (Iroh is very quietly not going to think about that and resolves again to never go down to the engine room if he can help it.)

He doesn’t know how what he sees all fits together yet. There’s one explanation, the one he’s been working under, the one that says Azula is Ozai’s creature and there’s nothing he can do about it. The one that sees every glare and every huff with all the entitlement that royalty brings, because Iroh knows even he is not immune to it. He used to wield it like a cudgel, willing to bash down anyone foolish enough to stand in the way of him and what he wanted. He knew how to sharpen words into knives and turn body language into attacks that cut men down as easily as a sword, because Iroh was Azulon’s son, and he grew into the shape that home forced upon him. He would still be that man, Azulon’s creature, had Lu Ten not died. Had his son not taken the glorious lie — in truth the palace secrets hidden by gold and flame, the shield Iroh blinded himself with — with him to the grave.

There’s a memory that comes to him at night sometimes, when the rocking of the waves sends him into an uneasy slumber. Uneasy slumber happens often now. Iroh was born of fire, and water will always mean danger, will mean monsters and terrible secrets hidden in the depths. He cannot yet sleep easy when he is at the sea’s mercy.

It is fitting, then, that the memory is more of a dream, faded and strange in that way half-remembered things are, crafted half of secrets and half truth. His son is talking to him, but his face is not animated the way it was in Iroh’s waking memories. Lu Ten’s eyes are troubled, a haunting knowledge behind them that preys upon his son.

“What troubles you, son?” he asks.

Lu Ten’s shadow looks at him, gazes into his spirit with some power the boy did not have in life. Or maybe he did. Maybe he did and what he saw was not enough, because this shadow of his son looks away. “It’s nothing.”

“Lu Ten, you know you can talk to me.”

His son does not look at him. Iroh follows his gaze and spies a small form alone in a training room. Blue fire flickers as the girl, and it can only be his niece, flows from kata to kata, casting her in and out of eerie light and darkness. She’s talented, he can give her that, but he sees too much drive, too much focus, things that lead to ambition and that is a dangerous virtue in their family. Iroh looks at his son and sees a calculus he does not understand, something that draws Lu Ten’s mouth out of its usual smile and into a frown. 

“What is it?”

Lu Ten never answers, in this memory-dream, just watches the dance of blue fire that burns too hot to contain.

Iroh watches his niece now with the Sub-Lt, gold eyes focused on the map the woman is showing her. He can see a hunger in them and wonders. What is going on in that little head of hers? He wishes he could talk to her, it’d be easier than just observation. But it’s been days since the girl woke up, and she hasn’t come to him at all. The ship is just large enough that Iroh wonders if she’s avoiding him on purpose. He honestly doesn’t know what to do. Should he just go to her, force his presence upon her? Or should he continue to try to let her come to him?

He finds himself wishing, again, that she be more like her brother. Zuko, he wouldn’t have any question about how to go about this. Or Lu Ten. He’d know what to do then. Instead, he feels like he’s trying to domesticate a feral wolf-cat pup, all claws and raised hackles and hissing anger. (Are all little girls like this? Or is this an Azula thing? He’s heard about what fate befell the doll he sent her all those years ago. Really, that should have been some kind of clue.)

It’d be easy to give up. To walk away, ask the captain not to wait for him at the next port, and go back to the White Lotus. If Ozai won’t let him help Zuko directly, he can help from the shadows. It’s tempting, so very tempting, every time he sees frustration and anger building in his niece’s eyes, when he knows she’d burn the entire ship if she could.

But.

But Lu Ten loved his little cousins. Both of them. His son saw something in Azula that made him try, made him try to claim her as his own, made him keep throwing himself against her walls. He thinks, maybe, he’d even gotten through.

So Iroh watches and tries to see what his dead boy saw.

——-

Life at the Royal Palace does not change much after Princess Azula’s banishment. That is probably the fact that disturbs Wen the most. She has served the Fire Nation Royal Family faithfully for over a decade, has seen the family grow and then shrink. She remembers the pall that draped itself over the Palace when Prince Lu Ten was killed, remembers the whispers and frantic looks when Prince Iroh disappeared, the second heavy blow of Fire Lord Azulon’s death. Those dark, frantic days that followed, with Princess Ursa missing and finally then-Prince Ozai forced to take the throne in order to stabilize everything.

No, compared to all of that, Princess Azula’s departure is quiet, unnoticed. Nothing has really been disrupted, merely a few schedules of servants who need to be reassigned to other duties. It is almost as if the Princess had disappeared years ago, and they were now only catching up with that fact.

Life went on for most of the people who served in the Palace.

Wen is not one of them.

Wen has to keep reminding herself to not enter the Princess’s rooms, to assist her in the mornings or to pick up the few stray belongings the child left scattered around. She’s failed, a few times, and has found herself standing in that empty room, bed covers pristine, training outfits carefully hung, and books meticulously organized. There were never many toys or other items scattered. She’d always thought the girl’s tastes austere, especially in comparison to the rest of her family. The room is even emptier now, without the Princess giving it even the smallest sign of life.

She knows she’s not the only visitor to those rooms, even if she might be the only accidental one. Wen has seen Prince Zuko standing there, looking a little lost himself. Poor boy. It all happened so suddenly. Then again, that is the point of assassination attempts. Wen’s been around long enough to know how the Court operates. Palace gossip had been all aflutter with theories and rumors, of which general or noble had taken offense to the Princess’s successful Agni Kai, of how this was all a ruse by a crafty Fire Lord and the girl wasn’t even really gone.

Wen wishes she could believe those rumors.

But good servants, ones who last more than a decade in service to the Royal Palace, know how to be invisible. They know how to observe and how to anticipate the needs of their charges. They see things and hear things that they are not always supposed to, and the ones who survive are the ones who know when to keep their mouths shut.

Wen is a very good servant.

She remembers being given the infant Princess and told to care for the babe. Hers were the hands that helped dress the child in her first court robes, that wiped away tears, that tucked small bodies into large beds. Hers were also the hands that handed over burn salve and bandages, that stopped wiping away tears that never fell, and quietly mended training clothes.

Wen is a very good servant and has never breathed a word of the things she saw.

She looks at Prince Zuko sitting alone by the turtleduck pond and thinks that maybe it is time she stops being very good.

——-

Caldera City is bustling at any time of day, including long after the sun has set. Wen pulls her cloak tighter, angling the hood to keep her face shadowed. It would not do to be recognized tonight. Not unless she wishes to burn. She’s already playing with enough fire as it is.

With her tenure in the Palace, it had only taken a few careful questions and deliberate comments for the information to get to her. First, Homura came to her, pale and shaking. The guard had looked haunted, and had admitted that he had been the one called to the Princess’s room that night. The Fire Lord had only told him to take the girl to the infirmary as discreetly as possible, to let no one see him, that there were threats about. He had then handed the guard a small wrapped body, so very still, but breathing. Homura had run like his feet were on fire to the infirmary.

Wen had asked if he knew how injured the Princess had been. The man said that the blankets had slipped and he saw a little. But he firmly refused to say another word.

That is telling enough, really.

The second piece of information is why she is out here tonight, in the Yūkaku District of all places. This is not an area of the city Wen has ever dreamed of setting foot in, but needs must. She supposes it works very well for the purpose. After all, discretion is prized very highly among those who frequent the flower houses and brothels. No one would pay any mind to who entered a particular establishment or for how long they stayed, as long as the person was a commoner. Nobles have other methods of ensuring their privacy; the rest of them have to rely on obscurity.

She mentally checks the address she was given again, for the fifth time, when she finally spots it a little further down the street. It’s a nondescript door, unsurprisingly, with the appropriate lantern hung outside to indicate that this is a teashop. The smell of jasmine and ginseng hang faintly in the air, coming from the establishment.

“Good evening, honored customer,” one of the hosts greets her as soon as she pushes the door open and steps inside. “Please, how may I be of service? We have many specialties that would be of interest to you, ma’am.”

The host gives her a very charming grin. He is almost unfairly pretty, with dark kohl around his eyes and lips painted, and Wen can admit she’s flattered by his attention. She’s never been one of the delicate flowers, never been one to catch a noble’s eye, which she always thought would cause more problems than it was worth. Her hands are calloused and worn from years of work in the Palace. And yet, here is this man years her junior giving her a smile as if she were one of the prettiest girls in the village. He does his job well; she can appreciate that.

“You’re very good,” Wen murmurs. The man smiles wider. “I admit I would be very tempted, but I had other plans tonight. I was told by a friend you specialize in a certain type of tea I’d like to try. A Tieguanyin, I believe?”

The man blinks and offers her a slower smile as he registers the codeword. “Ah, yes. Your friend has very good taste. Please, follow me.”

He leads her past the main room, full of loud patrons and staff, off down a corridor to a quieter, smaller room. The door to it is still closed when he bows to her. “Perhaps another time,” he says, smile now past charming and solidly in rougeish, and then takes off down the hall. 

She watches him go, then shakes her head to clear it of _that_ particular train of thought. He’s good at his job, but so is Wen and right now, she has to be sure she’s not actually blushing before she opens the door.

The room is small, and made smaller by the number of people in it. All five of them look at her as she enters, but Wen’s survived the Royal Palace. If she couldn’t handle assessing looks, she would have been dismissed long ago. Or worse. So she closes the door behind her and stands quietly under their gazes, back straight and proud, and raises an eyebrow.

The woman at the table snorts. “So. You’re the one we were told was coming,” she drawls, gesturing to come closer. Wen arches her eyebrow higher, and the woman smiles, a flash of white teeth against darker skin. “And you have a brain in that skull of yours. Fascinating.”

“It’s a useful advantage,” Wen replies calmly. “A survival feature, if you would.”

“Red,” one of the men mutters. “Can we get on with it?”

The woman, “Red” apparently, scoffs. “Fine, ruin my fun.” The man who spoke rolls his eyes. Red leans her elbow on the table and props her chin on her hand. “So. You’re here. You know everyone in this room could get chucked in a hole and left to rot for political dissent. And you’re here. So my question is: how can we help each other?”

“You’re not going to question my motives here?”

Red shrugs gracelessly. “Lady, you don’t know our real names and you’re outnumbered. Even if this was a trap, you’d get us, but we’re not all there is. You can’t kill an idea. It’s more likely that you end up having a hot date with the executioner right along with us.”

Wen nods sharply, then sits at the table across from Red, forcing the men to make room for her. She can’t afford to show weakness here, not now. Not when she’s committed to this path. “Very well,” she says. “I hear your...group of associates...has need of information from the Royal Palace. I can help you there.”

Everyone else in the room goes quiet. The man who spoke shifts and Wen knows with absolute certainty he is armed, and despite his companion’s words, she will be the one to bleed tonight if they do not like what she says. Red stares at her, eyes sharp and assessing. “And why,’ she says softly, “should we believe you? You work there. This very much could be a perfect trap.”

Wen thinks of Prince Lu Ten, smiling and kind and dead. She thinks of Prince Zuko, sitting alone by the turtleduck pond, without anyone left. And she thinks, finally, of little Princess Azula, the girl she rocked to sleep as a newborn, who she watched swallow down hurts and don a mask fit to rival the most jaded of servants in its blankness, whose hurts she’s tended to for all the girl’s life.

Wen thinks of the girl out of her reach, the boy she lost, and the boy she can still save.

“Because I’ve worked in the Palace long enough to know its secrets, to know the true face it hides from the rest of the world. Because I have made the Palace my family and I have lost too many children. Because the things I know burn so hot that I cannot keep silent any more, because there is the point where someone must say ‘enough’ lest they be damned to Koh’s Lair.” 

Wen takes a deep breath and stares the dissident called Red in the eye. “Because Fire Lord Ozai has lost the Mandate of Agni, and it is our duty to rebel.”

——-

Zuko doesn’t know what to do. Everything is so different now, and no one else seems to even be paying attention. They’re all acting like nothing changed, instead of realizing that everything did. Zuko wants to shout at them, because it’s happened _again_. First Cousin Lu Ten left and never came back. Then Grandfather Azulon died, and Mom had to leave. And now Azula is gone too. She’s the one that’s never supposed to leave.

She’s the one Mom asked him to protect, because little sisters need their big brothers, and he _promised_. And he failed.

Zuko...doesn’t really know how to fail. Sure, he’s not managed to do things right on his first try all the time, but those are little things, and he eventually figures out how to do them anyway. This is big, though. It’s _important_.

And he _failed_.

His lips twist into a snarl as he runs through his firebending forms, feeling the anger and rage and frustration just boiling under his skin until he lets it out in arcs of flame. Each punch and kick is fueled by a viciousness that would surprise him, but right now, all he can think is that it’s not enough. It’s not enough to aim for targets, send training dummies into burning splinters, not when all he really wants is to be throwing all his fire into General Koeda’s face.

Zuko isn’t stupid. He knows that man insulted him, and maybe he should have said something, but he’d already received one of his father’s quiet rebukes and was in no hurry to earn another. But General Koeda let himself get riled up by a kid, let himself agree to an Agni Kai with a kid, and he wasn’t even good enough to win against a kid.

Okay, so he knows Azula is a little more than an average kid. He even knew beforehand that his sister is good. He just didn’t realize how good. But that still doesn’t change the fact that an adult man was willing to beat down an eleven-year-old. So Zuko would really appreciate it if someone could explain to him why it’s _Azula’s_ fault.

He finishes his set with a rush of flames, and stands in the middle of the training room, breathing hard. It just isn’t fair. His sister had won, and she only got into trouble because she had come to _his_ defense.

Zuko still doesn’t know how he feels about that. The coming-to-his-defense part, not the winning part. The winning part was _easy_. He was proud, amazingly proud of her. Yeah, the fact that she’s his baby sister kind of stings, and he knew at some level that she’s way better than him, but still. She beat a general in a fair fight. Spirits, he had been planning on bragging about her to Mai and Ty Lee the next day, even if he had to drag Azula along by her ankles. (He’s pretty sure he could manage that. Sure she’s the better bender, but he’s got the height advantage.)

When she didn’t show up to breakfast, he’d been worried that maybe she’d gotten hurt in that Agni Kai. She hadn’t looked injured, but Zuko knew her well enough...and her complicated relationship with the truth. And the fact she’d never tell him. So if he wanted to know, he was going to check himself and _force_ her into letting him make sure she was fine (he had elaborate plans involving blankets and a backup plan requiring Ty Lee, but he was good at improvising). 

Finding Azula’s room empty was not as alarming as it should have been, looking back at it. But he quickly figured out something was very wrong when he realized she wasn’t at training or in the gardens. And that none of the servants he asked could tell her where she was. Or, rather, _would_ tell him. That’s what scared him.

So he asked Father.

Father had looked so serious and grave when Zuko asked him where Azula was. “Your sister,” he said slowly, putting down his inkbrush and gesturing for Zuko to sit across from him, “made herself some enemies yesterday. Powerful ones, I’m afraid.”

He held up a hand to forestall the outburst burning in Zuko’s throat. “I know. It’s unfair. She’s just a girl.”

“But you’re the Fire Lord,” Zuko protested.

Father sighed heavily, as if a great weight was pushing him further down. “Son, you know that means I’m chained more than most. The Fire Lord is bound to protect the Fire Nation. And that means I have to do everything in my power to keep things stable.” He looked at Zuko seriously. “Imagine what it would do if one of the noble families had a member of the Royal Family killed.”

Zuko felt his face drain of color. “Assassins, Father? They’d send _assassins_ after her?”

“They might,” Father said grimly. “There _was_ an attack.” 

Zuko gaped at him. “ _What_?” he asked, voice strangled. “Why didn’t you _tell_ me? Is she hurt? Is she —”

Father holds up his hand and Zuko’s mouth snaps shut. “Azula is alive, I can promise you that. No assassin touched her.” Zuko slumped in his chair. Good. Okay. That’s...thank Agni, she’s okay.

Father looked so tired. “You see why I can’t ignore the problem. And keeping Azula visible puts us in danger.” He slid a scroll across the desk to Zuko. “I had no choice.”

Zuko remembers taking that scroll like he expected it to burn. It would have been less painful if it did, after reading the proclamation his father had released that morning. He remembers feeling very numb. “Father...this is...you _exiled_ her?”

Father sighed. “It’s a banishment.”

He shook his head, gripping the scroll tight between his hands. “With the return condition that she finds the Avatar! That’s practically the same thing!”

“Zuko, you will learn that the words matter. There are people who will see this as you have pointed out, and be satisfied. But why would I create such an impossible condition?” Father asked.

Zuko thought about it. “Because,” he said slowly, trying to tease out the lesson here, “because you want people to think it’s permanent. Because you can revoke it, if you wanted. When you think she’s ‘learned her lesson’ or whatever you have to tell people.”

Father had smiled, and Zuko had left at least _knowing_.

But something just doesn’t sit right in his head. He feels like he’s missing something, something _important_. It’s like an itch in the back of his head, and he can’t scratch it. Because even though Father’s explanation makes sense, as much as Zuko knows that politics can be vicious, that he knows how much Father has to step carefully because of the war, he can’t shake the idea that there are shadows he doesn’t even know about. Questions he still doesn’t have an answer to.

Why didn’t Azula say good-bye? Or leave a note? Or...anything?

That’s the thing that he still doesn’t know how to feel about. Because on one hand, yeah, of course his little sister wouldn’t bother leaving him a note. This was the little sister he had to drag out to make friends, who threw insults almost as much as she threw fire, who had a frankly _astounding_ talent for driving him crazy. She burned his things, pushed him around, burned the _turtleducks_ and he sometimes wondered if she’d be happier if he wasn’t around. (Sometimes, he could admit he was a little jealous of the amount of time Father spent with her, after Mom left. He knows he shouldn’t, but he sometimes feels like he has to compete. Even though Father says he always has time for him.) (Now Azula isn’t here, and he feels so, so _guilty_.)

But it’s Azula. And he remembers seeing her standing in the middle of the hall, facing down General Koeda, because he had insulted _him_. Had insulted _Zuko_. She got thrown into an _Agni Kai_ because of _him_. And she didn’t even bat an eye, didn’t complain. The little sister who seemed to live to make his life a challenge had fought a general for _Zuko’s_ honor.

And won.

And had gotten exiled for it, in all but name.

Zuko knows he doesn’t understand his little sister, doesn’t understand what is going on in that head of hers, doesn’t always say what she means, or mean what she says. Mom had said Azula didn’t always show that she needed him. He wonders if she even knows how.

He bites his lip and stares at the orange flame in his hands.

Maybe...maybe he needs to figure out how to show her she doesn’t have to instead.

——-

Zuko thinks he might have made a mistake. Might have. Going to the Royal Library to see exactly how banishment and exile worked sounded like a good idea, because how could he know what his Father’s real plan was if he didn’t even know how it worked? But now he’s staring at the stacks and stacks of scrolls and has no idea where to even _start_.

Why did he think this was a good idea? He never goes to the Royal Library if he can help it. If he really needs a scroll, he would just ask for it to be sent to him. But that doesn’t work if he doesn’t know what he’s looking for, and he has zero idea how to even look out for what he’s looking for.

Zuko stifles a sneeze.

Also, it’s dusty in here and great, now he’s worried he’s going to set all the accumulated knowledge of the Fire Nation _on fire_.

Why couldn’t this problem be solved with swords, again? All the best problems were solved with swords.

He’s just about to give up and try Plan B (“go ask Mai”) when someone clears their throat behind him. He absolutely does not almost trip over his own feet when he spins around. There’s a man in scholar’s robes standing there, hands folded into his sleeves, looking at him with a bemused expression. Zuko tries not to hunch his shoulders.

“Hello, Prince Zuko, welcome to the Royal Library. How may this one serve?” the man says smoothly.

“I, uh, what?” It would be excellent if his brain would catch up, thanks. “Who?”

The man does not chuckle, although his eyebrow does raise pointedly. “My name is Keiji, I’m the Archivist here. If you have questions, you have only to request my assistance.”

Oh. Zuko looks at the man more closely; he looks to be about Father’s age, which is surprising. He’d have expected the Archivist to be older. Maybe he’s an assistant? It doesn’t matter, because if anyone knew where to find anything in this mess, it’d be someone with the title “Archivist”.

“I, um, was looking for some information? Except I don’t really know how to find it?”

The Archivist makes an agreeable noise and leads Zuko over to a table to take a seat. “Well, this is an excellent place to find information. What is it you’re looking for?”

The words should sound condescending, but somehow they don’t. He wonders if that’s just how this man is or if he’s a special case.

“I wanted to know the laws on banishment and exile.”

“Hm.” The man levels a piercing stare at him, pinning him to his seat. He feels like the man somehow sees more than Zuko intended. Which is ridiculous, because that’s the truth. That’s the entire reason he came here. “I had heard about Princess Azula’s status.”

Zuko keeps his mouth shut. The Archivist continues staring at him, before leaning back on his heels with a small smile. “I can certainly provide you with that information. Is there anything else?”

Zuko pauses for a moment and considers. He’s got the vague idea in his head that he wanted to find out more about the laws on banishment, yes. But he’d also assumed he was going to be on his own here. He didn’t want to bite off more than he could chew, but now? With the Archivist simply asking what he wanted? That could change things.

Azula left so suddenly. Uncle had gone with her (and even though that hurts he’s glad, so very glad, because it means she isn’t alone, not entirely), but how much did they know about the quest Father gave her? Zuko is sitting here with all the knowledge of the entire nation, in the most sophisticated library in the entire _world_ , at his fingertips, and his sister has to hunt spirit tales with nothing more than a wing and a prayer. It’s deeply unfair.

But...Uncle isn’t banished. Uncle was just sent along. Which means Uncle would have no issue walking into a Fire Nation port and picking up a message. And there’d be no problem with sending a hawk to Uncle. That’s just two family members talking, not treason. And Zuko has information _here_.

Maybe he hasn’t failed entirely after all. Not yet.

Zuko looks up at the Archivist. “Do we have anything from Great-grandfather Sozin?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hypothetical: what if Ozai was competent and forward-thinking _and_ had cultural precedent for gaining power?
> 
> Result: Ozai is an even bigger threat. And asshole, but that's basically a given at this point.


	3. you only get one side of true (gone and clipped my wings)

Iroh breathes in deep, then exhales as he finishes his kata. The sun is rising, spilling golden dawn over the ocean and over the deck of the ship. He’s found himself a small area on the deck, out of the way as best he can so that he won’t impede the crew in their duties. He’s noticed that some of them also prefer to welcome the sun with their katas, going through the exercises before they move to their shift assignments or to the mess for breakfast. 

He doesn’t like sea travel, not really, but he’s learning to appreciate the sea air in his lungs and the uninhibited light of the sun. There’s nothing to obscure the light, nowhere to hide, and that is humbling in a way few things are. When he stands out on the deck, in the morning dawn, he feels stripped bare, with all his faults and imperfections laid out. He can burn them out of himself, because he can see them, but so can others.

Something is different about today. There’s a thrum in the air that hasn’t been present before. Iroh looks around and spots his niece by the bow. The bulky bandage on her shoulder seems to be lessened today, which Iroh assumes means that Doctor Jian has finally allowed her to do some more-strenuous exercises. Although possibly not without supervision, as he spies one of the crewmen standing off to the side. Corporal Rùfen leans against the mast, seemingly content to watch the girl instead of climbing up to her usual post in the crow’s nest.

The corporal frowns slightly as she observes. Iroh shifts his attention to Azula. The girl looks stiff, stiffer than she should. Certainly stiffer than she did during the Agni Kai. It could be disuse, but...

Iroh realizes he still doesn’t know _exactly_ what injuries Azula suffered; specifically, he doesn’t know the severity. He suddenly wonders if this is a sign of a deeper, more permanent problem. A weakness where there used to be none. (An advantage, the general in his mind mutters, in case the worst comes to pass. The world cannot survive another Ozai.) (The good man he is trying to be recoils.)

Corporal Rùfen flicks her eyes over in his direction. She stares at him a long moment, before returning her attention to the still-struggling girl. She then says something he can’t make out, pulls out a tangor, and tosses it at Azula. The girl catches the fruit with her non-injured arm and levels a glare at the scout. The corporal just grins and says something else, turned away from him just enough that he can’t make out the words. Azula’s glare intensifies over the bandages still wrapped around her lower face, and Iroh can catch small wisps of flame flaring between the fingers she holds at her sides. The woman’s grin gets wider and then she abruptly swings herself up the mast to her post.

His niece is left staring up at the crow’s nest, but her fingers are no longer sparking. She looks at her hand for a long moment. Iroh’s heart clenches as he realizes she can bend, that she can back up threats again with real harm. (He knows Koeda is a skilled bender, and she beat him at _eleven._ She’ll be a monster in a few years.)

He swears Azula is about to climb up to the crow’s nest, injured shoulder or not. But instead she jerks her head away and stiffly walks off the deck. She has to walk right past him. He wonders if he should talk to her, if he should offer suggestions or comfort or something. But he’s never known what to say to the girl, even in better times. Now, she looks at him with a glare full of anger, a lurking rage that’s clearly simmering beneath her skin. Iroh says nothing, doesn’t let himself react.

She keeps her shoulders stiff and back straight as she stomps past him and down into the lower decks.

The sun shines brightly on the deck. Suddenly, Iroh has the feeling that he’s showing too much, that there are parts of him that he wishes other people would never see and they are being laid bare. It’s like he’s being judged, and found wanting. A feeling that he hasn’t had since his father was alive.

None of the crew on the deck seem to be paying attention to him. If anything, they seem to be avoiding looking at him.

...except for one man. Iroh looks up at the command deck and sees Lt. Jee standing there, face carefully blank.

It’s an image that Iroh can’t shake, one that dogs his steps the rest of the day. He knows the lieutenant; he was his commanding officer, back before he was a general, back before Jee transferred to the Navy. He knows the man, knows his dedication to his duty, knows his professionalism, knows him to be meticulous about respect. Iroh knows Jee, or he did.

But Iroh’s noticed the looks, what feels like a constant assessment over the weeks they’ve been on this ship. Jee has yet to say anything directly, but no one has. Not beyond what is required to run a ship and what polite society dictates. His old comrade has not come to have tea with him, to swap stories, or any of the myriad things old soldiers do together. At first, Iroh assumed he was busy with his command. Not only are there ghost tales about the ship, but the crew has dark shadows chasing them as well. (Iroh’s seen their records. His brother pulled out all the stops in getting him on a ship with the most disreputable crew in the Fire Nation.) Any good commander would be hard-pressed to keep discipline.

(Despite the poor reputation, the crew has easily fallen in line. Jee is a good commander, but he’s not that good. There’s something else here.)

That’s not what this is. Jee has kept his distance. At first, Iroh thought it was because of politics. He knows his reputation is not what it once was, not after Ozai took the throne. The people who once spoke of him with awe and deference now side-eye him and whisper to each other when he goes past. Failing to take Ba Sing Se, after being so close, was a devastating blow to morale. Iroh knows the blame for it got placed right at his feet. 

But he couldn’t. Not after losing so much. Not after having what felt like his soul cleave in two. Sometimes, Iroh thinks he left part of himself in that cursed city. If that’s the case, it was the part that his nation liked.

If his countrymen preferred the version of himself who died under the shadow of those walls, well, they could rot with the rest of the Fire Nation’s war machine.

(Do you really think it’s that simple, old man?)

That’s not to say that getting the same treatment from a man he respects (he doesn’t fool himself into thinking they are friends) doesn't hurt. If anything, it stings more. He can feel the weight of that silent condemnation. And he hates it.

It’s these thoughts that keep him up that night. Tea has somehow failed him. So instead, Iroh finds himself back on the deck, underneath the stars. It’s a clear night, with the moon hanging high and full in the sky, the kind of night where one could see where the horizon meets forever.

So there is no way Iroh misses the small figure hunched on the railing at the prow of the ship, right at the tip where a figurehead would be were this not a warship. Even from here, he can see she’s perfectly balanced; she’s perfectly balanced such that the slightest shift would send her head-first into the deep. And he notes that there’s no one else up here. If she were to shift, if she were to fall, no one would be the wiser until morning. 

Iroh finds his feet frozen to the deck. There’s no waterbenders about, but he can’t move from his spot as he stares at his niece. He’s staring at his eleven-year-old niece contemplating if she wants to fall to her death, and he _can’t move_.

There’s the general in his mind, that part of him that runs the cold numbers and thinks in terms like “acceptable losses” and “future problems”. The man who would see a feral wolf-cat pup and drown it before it grew up viscous, the one who saw small bodies among his foes and justified it that way. The part of him that noted just this morning that he is looking at a possible monster in the making. The tactical thing, the general cautions, would be to eliminate the threat while he still can. When it poses no problem, and when a tidy, bloodless solution presents itself.

The man he swears he is trying to be is horrified.

The moonlight makes Azula look so much paler, the bandages on her face so much whiter. She isn’t just hunched, she’s balancing on the balls of her feet, knees pulled to her chest and curled so very tightly. It makes her look small, so very small against a world that is so very big.

She’s eleven years old and can’t go home.

Azula is a _child_.

(Is this it, Lu Ten? Is this what you saw? Just a little girl, just a child in a very cruel world?)

Iroh looks, and this time, he does not see his brother. He does not see the man who plays with lives like puppets, throws them away like chaff into the fire. He does not see the man who hides knives in his smiles, cruelty in his favors, and damnation in his favor. He does not see the man who did not care when his nephew died, when his father died, when he stole Iroh’s throne. He does not see the shadow of the man in the child he once was.

This time, Iroh does not see the father in the place of the child.

And he feels sick. Because what has he been _thinking_? He thought himself so much wiser, so much better, than the man he was before. He thought he had left that man behind, in a grave by Ba Sing Se, a man fed on hate determined to follow the sins of his fathers, a man determined to hate the sons of his enemies _because_ of their fathers. Instead, he’s found it has followed him home and taken up residence in his heart.

He’s been willing to do nothing. Just wait it out. Just like a siege. Just like he always had.

(Is this what you saw, Lu Ten?)

Is this another thing he will only regret when it costs him a child in his care?

Azula shifts, and Iroh feels his heart in his throat. He takes one panicked step forward, but Azula merely stands, still facing the ocean. He almost has a heart attack when she tips backwards, hopping down onto the deck. She sinks down, back against the railing, once again curled into a tight little ball.

Iroh has to get his breathing back under control. (Sometimes, the heart is wiser than the head.)

He stands there for some time, just breathing, just watching. She’s fallen asleep, still curled up on the deck. Finally, he hears the sound of footsteps, and when he turns, he sees Jee with a blanket in his hands. The lieutenant walks past him, not even breaking stride, and crouches down to drape the blanket over the girl in a motion that looks far too practiced.

His feet are moving without him noticing, because he’s now standing right behind Jee. Iroh can see that the bandages on his niece’s face are wet, and he knows enough about wounds and ocean water to know that’s a terrible idea to let them stay that way.

Jee has the blanket wrapped around the girl’s small form and is about to pick her up when Iroh finds his voice. 

“Let me,” he says quietly.

Jee halts his motions, hands hovering above the blanket, and turns to look at Iroh. There’s a steady look in his eye, a measuring gaze. The same one, Iroh realizes abruptly, that he has been receiving for weeks. 

“She’s my niece,” is all he can think to say.

If anything, Jee’s look gets sharper, more pointed, and Iroh takes the unspoken criticism. It’s not unjustified, not when he’s come to the same realization himself. As always, Jee is too much of a professional to dress him down like he deserves. (Somehow, he’d forgotten that amazing, terrifying ability to judge silently with only a look.)

Instead, Jee drops his hands and stands up. Iroh feels that gaze on his back as he bends to carefully, gently, pick his niece up into his arms. She’s lighter than he expected. (Too light. Her cheekbones are too sharp, shoulders a little too narrow, not enough baby fat. And he knows Enlai the cook has been giving the most nutrient-dense soups he can manage. It doesn’t seem like enough.) Jee stays behind as he carries her away.

(He doesn’t remember the last time he held the girl like this. Was it back when she was a toddler? An infant? He spent so long away from his brother’s children, out fighting a war, that he never really got a chance to really know them, did he? Is that why it was so easy to see Ozai in her place?

It’s a tempting justification. He knows it’s an excuse.)

Iroh takes her below deck, down to the infirmary. Doctor Jian opens the door when he knocks, then sees what he’s carrying and presses his lips together in a flat line. “What happened?”

He doesn’t let himself bristle at the doctor’s sharp tone and sharper gaze. He’s...probably earned it, at least a little. And it’s a good thing that this man is more protective than a badger lion over his niece. Iroh keeps that in mind as he answers quietly. “She fell asleep on the deck. Her bandages got wet.”

Doctor Jian says nothing, but moves aside and walks into the infirmary. Iroh follows and gently places Azula on the bed indicated. She twists a little in her sleep but doesn’t wake up. The doctor sets to work immediately, and Iroh sees her settle a bit when the man carefully brushes her hair out of her face. Only when she’s calmer does he start carefully unwrapping the bandages.

Iroh stands to the side, feeling extremely anxious and awkward. All those years in the military are screaming at his hard-won instincts to get the hell out of here. He’s just in the way, he’s going to cause problems, just let the doctor do his job. Except now that’s up against the simple fact that Iroh...doesn’t want to leave his niece. He wants to keep her in his sightlines, wants to know she hasn’t been hurt. He doesn’t want to find he let another child slip into the spirit world when his back was turned.

He clears his throat. Doctor Jian pauses.

“Is there...anything I could help you with, Doctor?” Iroh tries. If he were useful here, maybe he wouldn’t feel like he were in the way.

The doctor turns slightly and looks at him for a long moment. “I’ll need that water sterilized,” he says finally, jerking his head to indicate two pots on the table of supplies. “Boil both pots and then put them on the side table here by her bed. Then I’ll need the burn salve prepped and fresh bandages.” He pauses. “I can assume you know how to prepare the burn salve, General?”

He does. It takes very little time to boil the water with his firebending, and he places the steaming water on the table next to the already-prepared towels and cloth strips. Doctor Jian pauses unwrapping the bandage to drop the strips in one pot. Iroh is on his way back with the fresh bandages and the salve when the doctor removes the last layer of wrappings, which allows him to see clearly the extent of his niece’s injuries.

It’s...very difficult to describe. Iroh has seen a lot of wounds, an exceptional number of them burns. He knows very well what the effects of fire on the flesh can be. It still takes every ounce of willpower he has to not stagger on the spot. The burn covers the lower left part of her face, covering the jaw. It missed most of her mouth, except for the edge, where her lips look raw and melted. It only gets worse as it travels back, because damage was enough to burn entirely through part of her cheek, leaving a mess of ruined skin around a literal hole in the side of her face. The burn continues underneath her chin on the bottom side of her face, in a grotesque mockery of a cradled hand.

Iroh feels faint.

The damage is horrific, yes, and all the more so because it is on a child’s face. That it is on his _niece’s_ face makes it even worse. But the thing that makes Iroh feel like he’s being crushed by an earthbender, the fact that knocks all the air out of his lungs and makes him want to fall weeping, is that he knows in his heart who is responsible. This type of burn required very hot flame to be held against her face for an extended period of time. There are few people who could do that, even fewer with access to the palace, and fewer still who could manage it without alerting the guard.

And beyond all that, Iroh knows how large his brother’s hands are.

(Iroh knows that this is not Ozai’s first choice for punishment; this is merely a capstone on a monument of transgressions that this child must have paid for in blood. This has been happening for a very long time, and he never knew.)

(Lu Ten, you suspected. You tried. Did you not trust your father? Have I let you down even more?)

“Is she...” Iroh croaks, staring in horror at what his brother did to his own child.

Doctor Jian quietly washes his hands in the other pot of steaming water before taking one of the cloth strips. He uses the clean cloth to gently wash the wound. “It’s a very bad wound,” he says, “but it’s healing quite well, considering. She’s very lucky it never got infected. She should be able to eat solid foods again without tearing the scabs in not too much longer.”

Iroh’s tongue feels thick in his mouth. “What...what do I need to know?” What do I have to do to help her?

Doctor Jian looks at him again. Then he accepts the peace offering and tells him. He tells him the extent of the damage (exactly as he feared), the chances of it healing to look much better (none), how to keep it clean and when to change bandages and all the other risks to watch out for. Shows him how to apply the salve and how to wrap the bandages.

Iroh listens like this will be on the most important exam he will ever sit. (It’s more important.)

Azula doesn’t wake at all throughout all of this.

When he’s finished, the doctor cleans up the medical supplies. Iroh stays by her bedside, looking down at the child in the bed. (She’s so _small_. Why did he never notice how small she is?)

“Does she have to stay here?” he asks.

“I’m sorry?”

Iroh clears his throat. “Does she have to stay here, in the infirmary? Or...”

The doctor gives him another accessing stare. “No,” he says finally. “But I’d feel better with someone watching her, just in case.”

(She’s been sleeping in the infirmary this entire time?)

“That’s quite all right. I’d...like to take her now, if I can,” he says quietly.

The doctor nods slowly, and Iroh leans down and carefully picks Azula up, gently resting her head on his shoulder. He thanks the doctor and then leaves the infirmary, immediately heading to his own quarters. Iroh knows his own bed is soft, almost too much. It reminds him that he is no longer a young army officer or an older general, but just a prince. He’s almost hated it, until now. Now, he lays his niece down upon soft fabric and fine silk and lets her stay wrapped in the military-issue blanket she’s unconsciously clutching.

Azula does not stir.

Iroh sits back on his heels and watches her breathe steadily, alive, all night.

(When Azula wakes up the next morning, she wakes to see Iroh smiling at her, two cups of tea already already waiting.)

(It’s not enough, but it’s a start.)

——-

Zuko paces around the fountain in one of the gardens. He knows this isn’t going to make Mai and Ty Lee get here any faster, but he’s got too much nervous energy to even think about sitting still. It’s like he’s got fire ants crawling underneath his skin, and it’s _uncomfortable_. For the tenth time, he checks the bag on his hip. Yep, scrolls are still there.

Finally, he hears footsteps. He lifts his head in time to see the guards who had been escorting the two girls depart, leaving his friends behind. 

“Zuko!” Ty Lee wastes no time in launching herself at him, and it’s only because he’s known her for years that she doesn’t send him tumbling into the fountain.

They tumble onto the grass instead.

“Ooof,” he mutters.

“Zuko, I’m so sorry!” It takes him a second to realize she’s crying. “We heard about Azula, and oh, it’s so not fair! Did she really get sent away?”

Oh.

He awkwardly pats her on the back. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “It’s not. And she did.”

“That’s dumb,” Mai says flatly once she reaches them. She looks down at the two of them and sighs. “Hi Zuko.”

He looks up at her. “Hi Mai.”

“Ty Lee, how about you let the Prince of the nation up? _Before_ the guards have a fit and throw us in prison?”

The other girl blinks, then somehow almost backflips off of him and onto her feet. (Zuko didn’t think gravity worked that way, but then again, Ty Lee.) Zuko follows, although much less gracefully.

“So what are you going to do?” Ty Lee asks, having moved from the crying portion of this to the demanding-answers part.

He looks at her. “What can I do? Azula’s been _banished_. By Father’s order,” he says, very slowly.

Mai raises an eyebrow.

Zuko grins. 

(He _knew_ they were the right people to introduce Azula to. Friends are important. That’s what all the plays said. And while the fountain isn’t a flame-peach tree, it’s close enough. He’s...pretty sure it’ll still work.)

“Come on,” he says. “I’ve got something to show you.”

He leads them back into the palace, over to a certain tapestry of some old battle the dates of which he can never remember. Glancing around quickly to make sure they’re alone in the hallway, he pulls the heavy cloth back to reveal a passageway.

“Ooh, a secret passage!” Ty Lee whisper-yells.

“Not a secret anymore,” Mai drawls, “if you shout it.”

“Just...come on!” Zuko hisses, panicked at the thought of someone finding them. They’re not doing anything _bad_ , it’s just...he doesn’t want to have to explain everything to Father. He’s got enough happening to worry about this.

Thankfully, they all dart into the passage before they’re caught. Zuko leads them through all the twisty, dark passages until they get to a small room. It doesn’t have much, just a table, some cushions, and more than a few candles. But it’s hidden and it looked like no one had been here in _forever_ when he found it.

“You had a secret hideout this entire time and didn’t tell us?” Ty Lee asks with a pout.

“It’s not a secret hideout!”

Mai looks around pointedly. Zuko decides not to respond to that.

“Okay, so then what are we doing in your totally-not-a-secret-hideout then?” 

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Really, he should have expected this. Why didn’t he see this coming? “Ugh, fine.” He pulls out the scrolls from his bag. He’d spent _hours_ in the Library, and then kept going back and spending more time, because every time Archivist Keiji handed him a scroll on a topic he’d asked about, Zuko would end up with questions for at least five others.

(The Archivist had looked so amused, like he was letting Zuko in on some kind of secret. Secret knowledge, maybe. How did he find all of this stuff anyway?)

But these scrolls, these were the ones that he knew he needed to show Mai and Ty Lee as soon as he’d finished them.

“What are we looking at?” Ty Lee asks, looking over Mai’s shoulder at the scroll the other girl had unrolled.

“I asked for things from Fire Lord Sozin’s time. Since Father put the condition of ‘find the Avatar’ on Zula’s banishment, I thought looking over things from when there last was an Avatar would be helpful. I could send Uncle notes.”

“This isn’t from a hundred years ago,” says Mai. “It’s too old.”

Zuko nods. ‘Too old’ was an understatement. That scroll was older than the Fire Nation itself, from back when it was just the Warring States, before they had been unified under the first Fire Lord. “But look at what it says.”

Ty Lee peers closer. “I don’t get it. It’s about the Air Nomads fighting firebenders.” She shivers a little. “And winning.”

Mai scoffs. “Winning? This person is describing a massacre.”

She’s not wrong, he knows. He felt sick when he read the account. The survivor of an Air Nomad attack wrote about what he had seen. He gave very vivid descriptions of how even young airbenders could flay the skin from their enemies with bursts of wind, of air being bent from a company’s lungs and leaving them to suffocate without any defense. How they snuffed out flames, both internal and external, without stopping or with any more care than a farmer scything grass. How fighting against the Air Nomads was like fighting against a typhoon. 

They had ripped across the islands before the Fire Nation even existed, like a force of nature no one could stand against. According to the author, the Fire Nation would have never existed, had the Wind Spirit herself not turned and raged against her children. She called upon Shenlong, Agni’s son of storms, who ripped the wind from their hands and brought his fury down upon them. After having their own element turned against them, the Air Nomads turned back and disappeared, only emerging once they’d established their own fortresses all over the world. So they’d always be ready to strike again, from any direction, before the spirits could intervene again.

“So what?” Mai asks. “We learned how dangerous the Air Nomads were in school.”

Ty Lee nods. “That’s why Fire Lord Sozin decided to fight them first. Because they would have killed us all.” She eyes the scroll. “Like they were trying to do for a long time, it looks like.”

Zuko nods. “Right. And they had the Avatar. Sozin had no choice.” He hands Mai another scroll. “That’s why this confuses me.”

Her face is blank as she takes the scroll from him and opens it up to read. It’s a newer scroll, just over a hundred years old. But he remembers how covered in dust it had been when Archivist Keiji handed it to him. Like no one had touched it in almost that long.

Zuko can see when Mai gets to the confusing part. Her expression actually shifts, a tiny frown on her lips and a slight crinkle to her forehead. “This is saying the Air Nomads are a nation of _monks_. Non-combatant monks.”

“That’s...the complete opposite of what the Air Nomads were,” Ty Lee says. “But the scroll is newer. A lot newer. See?” She points at some of the gold ink on the sides. “That’s not flaking. It’s a newer type of paint, they only started using it a hundred and fifty years ago.”

Zuko and Mai both turn to stare at her.

“What?”

“How did you even know that?” he wonders. He had to ask the Archivist!

Ty Lee shrugs. “One of my sisters does printmaking,” she says, like it explains everything. Strangely enough, it does.

Zuko shakes his head to clear it. “Right. Anyway. So why write an account that’s so blatantly against what we’re taught? And before the war, so it’s not someone just spreading wrong information.”

Mai continues staring at the scroll. “Who wrote this?”

He licks his suddenly-dry lips. “Avatar Roku. When he just started learning with them.”

The not-secret-hideout is very quiet as the girls digest this. Because for all of Roku’s sins at the end of his life, everyone knew he had been a patriot as a younger man.

“This is dangerous information, Zuko,” says Mai. She actually sounds worried. “If this is true, Sozin’s justification falls apart.”

“If this is true,” Zuko says quietly, “what _else_ is?”

——-

Yuka holds Koji’s hair back as he loses his lunch over the side of the ship. Again. Honestly, she’s done this enough times that she basically just makes sure he’s not about to pitch himself overboard. Instead, she focuses on the activity on deck. Right now, it looks like Corporal Rùfen is attempting to cajole the Princess into trying out some terrifying-looking knives. Yes, _the_ Princess of the Fire Nation. And yes, trying to talk her into learning how to stab people. Namely the Corporal herself, at least to start with.

The Corporal is either brave or insane. From the stories Yuka’s been hearing, the answer might be both.

Yuka finds herself wondering the same thing she has every day: why is she even on this boat again? She wanted the army. The army _very specifically_ did not do boats. She had signed up for the army, so why is she even here?

Oh right, because her father is an _asshole_.

Koji finishes and turns around before slumping to the ground, leaning his back against the railing. “Ugh,” he mutters. “I thought I was getting better.”

He actually is. This is the first time he’s been seasick in three days, which is a vast improvement to his first weeks on the boat where he’d be violently ill every afternoon like clockwork. She doesn’t mention it to him, though. It didn’t seem right, since she’s been perfectly fine this entire time. Yuka pretends her smile doesn’t get strained every time someone makes a well-meaning comment about how she takes to sea-living like a fish to water.

That’s the entire _problem_.

Still, the least she can do is be awkwardly supportive of her fellow newbies here. 

Koji has his face turned upwards towards the sun. “I’m really thinking the sea does not like me,” he mumbles. He’s still looking a little pale and shaky. “This wouldn’t be so bad if I was a firebender instead.”

Yuka very carefully doesn’t react.

She doesn’t have to ask him to clarify. Koji’s from the colonies, and he couldn’t hide the fact that he’s an earthbender, not when it’s written on his record. And certainly not when he admitted it to her and Fai that first night, and then braced himself like he was expecting to get every slur imaginable thrown at him. He also looked like he’d heard them all already.

(Yuka had clenched her hands, staring at skin that’s a few shades darker than even his, the shade that marked her as different from her siblings — half-siblings — despite the amber eyes that she shared with her father. From Koji’s tone when he said “earthbender”, she didn’t think she’d ever know which of them had it better.)

He opens one eye and peers up at her. “Maybe not. You’ve been fine.”

She shrugs. “Guess so.”

(She doesn’t even notice her weight shifting, naturally flowing with the waves as the ship rides the currents. It’s as natural as breathing.)

(This line of thought is dangerous.)

Koji sighs heavily, then sits up straighter when his gaze falls on the scene elsewhere on the deck. “Did someone seriously give the Princess a pair of _baat jaam do_?” His voice hits a slightly higher pitch at the end.

Yuka looks in that direction. Sure enough, the Princess is holding those two chunky daggers that look like swords in her hands. “I guess? Is that what they’re called?”

“Uh, that’s what we called them? I’ve heard húdiédāo too.” Ah. Butterfly swords. She knew that name, not the colony term. Koji continues speaking. “Although not the point! Point is that the _Princess_ is learning how to stab with them. Who the hell thought this was a good idea?”

“The Corporal, apparently.” Yuka watches said woman dance out of the way of a slash that was at disembowelment height, offering advice with a (kinda unnerving) grin. This just prompts the Princess to glare at the scout over the bandages still covering the lower part of her face, although Yuka can see her adjusting her stance and grip. “The General looks a bit nervous, though.”

And wasn’t that a kick to the head? Not only is she on a boat, not only is the eleven-year-old banished Princess aboard, but so is the _Dragon of the West_. Yuka remembers hearing stories during training of how the man was the scourge of the Earth Kingdom, an inferno in human skin, because of course she did. She’d planned on being in the army, so she trained for the army. It seemed like _all_ the trainers had some story of the Dragon. And then she wasn’t in the army (thanks so much, _Father_ ). And against all reason, here is _the_ General-Prince Iroh.

So yeah, she’d been a little awestruck at first. And then that image cracked as time went on. Yuka was the one Enlai grabbed for deliveries to the infirmary at mealtimes. (Something about how she was clearly the only person he could trust to actually get the soup to the infirmary and not the floor. Yuka... _thinks_ the cook meant it as a compliment.) So Yuka was the one who saw how long the Princess was unconscious and saw Doctor Jian’s worry. She overheard him, once, muttering about how the General still hadn’t come down to check on the little girl.

That had surprised her. The other thing about the Dragon of the West everyone in training talked about was how he’d given up Ba Sing Se after his son died. Some said he lost his nerve, or was lost in his grief. Some even said he just stopped caring and just left. Yuka had thought it was the grief. That might have been because she wants to believe that a good father exists somewhere, a man who loves his kids enough that it destroys him if something happens to them. It’s a childish wish, she knows this, but it’s the wish that still won’t dislodge itself from its place in her heart. (She’s tried _drowning_ it, burying it so deep and in the depths where there is no light and no breath. She’s tried so very hard, because her own father is nothing but disappointment and resentment, and she’s tired of giving him more ammunition.)

Now though? Now Yuka wonders if the other explanation is true, that the man just stopped caring. That he didn’t take the throne when the nation needed him was bad enough. But it was watching him actually drink tea in the mess day after day, completely nonchalant, while his little niece fought for her life in the infirmary that shattered any lingering belief in the other explanations. If he didn’t care about his own flesh and blood, why would he care about the rest of them?

Yuka knows she should be used to the taste of disappointment. It does nothing to hide the bitterness.

But strangely, it seems like something shifted in the last week or so, like something suddenly caught in a current and pulled in a new direction. Now, it’s almost as if the General watches the Princess like a mother foxhawk, always aware of where she is and almost never leaving his sightlines. The few times she’s seen him now without the Princess nearby, he’s been picking up bandages and medicine from a much-more approving Doctor Jian.

Yuka wonders if the Princess is as confused as the rest of them by the sudden change.

Koji snorts, shaking Yuka out of her thoughts. “Nervous is one word for it,” he says. “Have you seen the Princess’s bending? If the Corporal teaches her those blades, it’s just gonna be unfair.”

Yuka pats him on the shoulder. “It could be worse,” she muses. He looks up at her. “At least she’s on our side.”

“Yay.”

As much as she’d like to stay on the deck and watch, she knows she has actual work to do. And now that Koji is less likely to make a mess on the deck, she feels no guilt in dragging him off, because they’re both on-duty in the engine room today. If she’s going to spend a shift vaguely terrified that the Chief Engineer is somehow going to explode the boat today, he’s not getting out of it either. (She can hear the sounds of the ocean much clearer down below decks, underneath the hum and caged fury of the engines. The waves press against the hull down there, the groaning metal an odd chorus in her bones. All that separates her and the sea is that too-thin barrier.)

(She needs to drown it out.)

Chief Tsui is someone who apparently believes that crewmembers assigned to them on shift are free labor and makes plans accordingly. Yuka’s still not sure which bolts they had her turning or even why, but it was better than shoveling coal (like Koji). At least she wasn’t right next to the steam.

In any case, she’s sore and tired afterwards as she makes her way to the mess, near the tail-end of dinner, and all she really wants is a shower. And food. Probably in the reverse order. This is why she nearly groans when Enlai waves her over to the kitchen before she even makes it to the grub line.

“I’m off-shift,” she says half-heartedly as she ducks into his domain. Enlai gives her an unimpressed look. “Oh come on.”

He snorts. “My nine-year-old has a more effective whine. Hers doesn’t work either.”

Yuka slumps, conceding the point. She’s never really gotten any effectiveness out of whining, and in any case, Enlai’s unlikely to ask her for anything too hard. He doesn’t like people missing meals, after all, so it’s not going to make her lose her chance at dinner. “What is it?”

“I heard from the Doc that our little Princess is allowed regular food again.”

She blinks. “Isn’t that good news? Now you don’t have to have a separate soup?”

“Sure,” he says, face pensive, “but she hasn’t been in the mess all day. And I saw the General in here earlier, so it looks like she managed to give him the slip.”

“Well that’s...actually, that’s impressive.” Even if sailors covered for her, the boat is not that big. And that’s a big if, since lying to royalty can be one of those life-ending career moves. Literally.

Enlai rolls his eyes and mutters something about stubborn children.

Yuka elects to ignore that, and instead asks a more useful question. “So, what do you need me for?”

He gestures to a tray that has been set aside, with bowls of rice and salted fish and other foods both easy to chew and easy on the stomach. Yuka raises an eyebrow at the blatantly-different-from-standard dinner; Enlai decides not to notice. “Take this to her quarters. Princess or not, that kid needs to eat.”

“Fine,” she says, heaving a dramatic sigh and taking the tray. Her and her stupid ability to walk on a ship without dropping anything, look where it’s gotten her.

The cook, damn him, ignores her dramatics and shoos her out of his kitchen.

Really, it’s not a terrible task. She’s just tired and hungry, but that’s nothing new. At least she knows Enlai will save her dinner if this somehow takes far longer than it should. That’s better than, say, her entire childhood.

Yuka heads down to the Princess’s quarters, reminding herself that she isn’t taking the dinner to the infirmary this time. Unsurprisingly, the door is shut when she gets there, so she knocks while balancing the tray with one hand.

After a moment, there’s a muffled “Yes?” from the other side, high-pitched like a child’s and scratchy with disuse. Huh, that’s the first time Yuka’s even heard her voice. It makes sense she can talk now, if the bandages can come off enough for her to eat.

She realizes she hasn’t actually answered. “Uh, dinner, Your Highness? I mean, I have your dinner. The cook said he hadn’t seen you in the mess, so he asked me to deliver it.” And she’s babbling. Great. Way to look like a competent adult in front of the literal child.

There’s a long pause, long enough for her to seriously debate the merits of just leaving the tray outside the door. On one hand, Enlai will very probably murder her, or give her devestatingly effective I’m-so-disappointed-in-you looks. On the other hand, she’d be out of this awkwardness. Tempting.

The door opens before she can decide to take her chances with her very-probable death. The Princess glares up at her over her bandages. The bandages look slightly crooked and loose, not quite like Doctor Jian’s precise wrapping. Almost as if they were quickly reapplied, in about the same time between when Yuka said she had dinner and the door opening.

Yuka brought every meal to the infirmary for weeks. She’s got a pretty good idea what exactly is under those bandages, even if she never got a full look. She knows it’s bad.

And maybe more importantly, Yuka’s been a little girl. There’s a vast ocean of difference between her and the Fire Nation Princess, but some things remain the same. Yuka knows what it means to be marked as “different”, to wear a badge that screams out what sin you committed on your face, that damning sign of weakness that’s impossible to hide because it’s seared into your flesh. Just because Yuka’s scar is metaphorical doesn’t mean it hurts any less. It’s written on her skin just the same.

Yuka knows what it means to want to, to _need_ to hide part of yourself away just to survive. But the younger girl in front of her doesn’t have to accept it as a weakness.

She holds out the tray and when the Princess takes it, asks “Can I...I need to get something. I’ll be right back?”

She barely waits long enough to see the confused little nod before she’s sprinting down the hall to the crew barracks and over to her own bunk. There, at the bottom of her footlocker, she finds the scarf. It’s probably the only nice thing her half-sister ever gave her, as if maybe having her die of frostbite at the South Pole would be a family embarrassment. It’s not even good for that, the cloth being much too thin to be properly warm in those kinds of temperatures, although it was soft enough. (Okay, so it’s not-so-nice and far more in-line with all the things she’s ever gotten from her family. They are nothing if not consistent in their shittiness.)

Yuka weighs the scarf in her hands and thinks. It was even dyed a perfect Fire Nation red. 

She slams the footlocker shut and books it back down to the Princess’s quarters. Unsurprisingly, the door is closed again. She knocks, and this time, she doesn’t have to wait nearly as long before the door opens. Before the younger girl can even glare up at her, she holds out the scarf in offering.

The Princess blinks, glare aborted in favor of confusion.

Yuka realizes she’d better explain before she looks like a lunatic. Or even more of one. “For you. It’s not the best, but it’s probably better than the bandages. Er, if you wanted to remove it and put it back on quickly.” _Why_ did she think this was a good idea? “I know it’s not great and you probably have much better quality, but...I, uh, thought it might help. If you didn’t want to...if you ever wanted to eat in the mess. Or not be muffled by bandages.”

Dammit, of course she’s babbling again.

The Princess stares at her for a long moment. (Yuka wonders if this is what losing years of your life feels like.) Then she slowly takes the cloth from Yuka’s hands.

As soon as the scarf clears her hands, Yuka steps back, offers a very low bow, and then definitely does not leave as quickly as she can without actually running.

She’s spent too many shifts with Chief Tsui: she’s clearly developing a death wish.

——-

Tap. “Dead. Keep your hands up.” Clash, parry, twist, tap. “Dead. Keep your feet moving.” Clash, twist, duck, dart, parry, tap. “Dead. The guard there can trap my blade. Use it.”

Azula sets her mouth in a firm line as Corporal Rùfen returns to a defensive stance opposing her, húdiédāo held deceptively loose in her hands. The corporal is not a patient teacher; she’ll tell you what you got wrong and make it very clear how costly the mistake could be. She has no time for play, no time to be anything but deadly serious about the weapons in their hands, and so is unforgiving in her lessons.

Azula thinks the corporal is the kindest teacher she’s ever had.

The training blades are heavy in her hands. They feel even heavier as Corporal Rùfen drills her through katas and exercises. That’s the point. She’s not as strong as she should be, not after weeks with her injuries confining her to a bed and then just slowing her down. Corporal Rùfen had noticed when Azula did her katas on the deck.

“Come here tomorrow, after lunch,” Corporal Rùfen had said. “I have something that might help.”

When Azula showed up the next day, because her katas were sloppy and she’s a liability like this, Corporal Rùfen handed her two blades. Azula felt her mouth go dry. Honored Father had said weapons were beneath firebenders like her. Honored Father said she would use her fire or she would use nothing at all. Now the corporal is putting blades into her hands.

But Zuko uses blades, and Honored Father praises him. (Lu Ten used swords too. Lu Ten used knives just like the ones Corporal Rùfen has given her.)

And Honored Father isn’t here.

Corporal Rùfen had explained. “Your right shoulder is weaker now. Maybe you’ll get back to where you were, but maybe you won’t. The blades will help with strength. Even without bending.”

This is something she understands. Strength training is good. And Corporal Rùfen has no time for useless exercises, so if that means Azula also learns how to use these blades, that’s a bonus. It’s a kindness Azula never expected.

Disgraced Uncle Iroh had gotten a strange look on his face when he saw her with the knives. She isn’t sure what it means. She was afraid he would make her stop, because she is a firebender and he is Honored Father’s brother. But Disgraced Uncle Iroh had not objected when Corporal Rùfen told him about the lessons. He did watch the entire lesson that day. And the next. And every day since.

This does not make sense. Before, Disgraced Uncle Iroh didn’t want to waste his time with her. Azula knows he spends time with Zuko, which is as it should be because Zuko loves him. But now, Disgraced Uncle Iroh is here with her and not with Zuko like he should be. So she expected him to throw himself into the work that would get him home quickest. Honored Father had not banished Disgraced Uncle Iroh; he should not be here with her. 

Azula had thought he knew this and agreed with it. Disgraced Uncle Iroh had other duties, other things demanding his attention. He did not spend his time on her; he never had. Just because they were on the same ship didn’t mean this would change.

Except, then it did. She still doesn’t understand it. She had woken up in the softest bed she’d even slept in, which was strange because she also had the blanket Lieutenant Jee had given her on multiple occasions when she fell asleep on the deck. It was even stranger when she realized she was in Disgraced Uncle Iroh’s quarters and the man himself was sitting there watching her, offering her tea.

That had never happened before.

And then it kept happening. Now, Disgraced Uncle Iroh spends time with her every day, watches her struggle through katas that she could do in her sleep when she was five, speaks in proverbs she doesn’t understand but he doesn’t seem to mind when she doesn’t respond. It’s weird. It would make Azula nervous, except she doesn’t get nervous (she can’t be nervous), because Honored Father told her to keep her distance from Disgraced Uncle Iroh.

Except Honored Father put her on this ship with Disgraced Uncle Iroh. So she doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do. (Her jaw hurts at the memory of the last time she made an assumption about Honored Father’s purpose.)

Zuko likes Disgraced Uncle Iroh. Zuko would want her to keep him safe. So she can be with Disgraced Uncle Iroh for Zuko.

Right now, though, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that Corporal Rùfen is across from her, waiting for Azula to attack. So she obliges, and although she keeps in mind all the advice she’s been given, has corrected all the mistakes, the corporal still has her disarmed and on the ground with a knife at her throat in less than a minute. It’s the best she’s done.

“Good job,” says Corporal Rùfen, offering her a hand to get up.

She doesn’t take the hand. “How?” she demands, sitting up.

The corporal raises an eyebrow. “How what?”

Words are...she has so many questions. Not only about what she did wrong, because of course the corporal bested her; Azula has only been doing this for a week. But also...”You said this would help.”

“Ah.” Corporal Rùfen lets her hand fall back to her side, and then, to Azula’s surprise, sits down on the deck across from her. “That. It will, if you keep practicing.” She looks off to the side, staring at something over the horizon. “I had a brother. Older than me. He was born with a weak arm.” She turns back and taps her own shoulder. “He didn’t want to let that stop him from being a great firebender. The standard katas didn’t work so well for him. So he made his own forms. And he learned a weapon.”

“To build up his strength?” Azula asks. That makes sense.

Corporal Rùfen nods. “He taught me, even though I didn’t have the same problem. I can show you the forms later, if you want.”

“Did he do it?”

“Hm?”

“Is he a great firebender?” This is important. She shouldn’t waste her time if this didn’t work. (She likes the húdiédāo. They remind her of her cousin, and the blades he showed her once. She knew better than to ask to learn then.)

The corporal’s smile is fuzzy around the edges. It’s an expression that makes her blood feel cooler and like she just ate something heavy. “He was. He was an officer in the army. Took a lot of earthbenders with him when he went down.”

Azula frowns. She’s not sure what she’s supposed to say to that. They are at war. People die in war. Her cousin died in it. But the corporal isn’t giving her any indication of what Azula should give her. There are words she knows she’s supposed to say, but those words don’t make sense. She didn’t know Corporal Rùfen’s brother. How can she be sorry he’s dead? Why would she apologize, because she knows it wasn’t her fault. That just seems...wrong, to say things like that to her teacher right now.

Suddenly, Corporal Rùfen grins and hops to her feet. “So now I’m teaching it to you to fix your shoulder. So you don’t keep dropping your guard.”

Azula scowls behind the scarf she’s wearing. It’s the one that crewmember had given her, and she had been right: it is more convenient than the bandages. (She knows the burn is bad. She knew it was bad before she saw it in a mirror. Honored Father had said it was a punishment for her tongue. Honored Father does not punish by half measures. She had felt uncomfortable about letting people see it. It is his mark, but she is not supposed to show weakness.) And none of the crew had looked at her oddly when she wore it the first time. That was...nice.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get it,” the corporal says, stretching slightly. “I have no doubt you’ll be knocking me to the deck in no time.” Her tone is light, but she sounds serious. The words feel fuzzy under Azula’s skin, odd but kind of nice? This is so confusing. Azula scowls a bit harder, but Corporal Rùfen barks a laugh and climbs back up to her usual spot in the crow’s nest.

Azula is left to her own devices. It’s not a new occurrence. The crew is busy, and she hasn’t been given any sort of tasks. It makes her feel jumpy, like she’s missing a lesson she didn’t even know about. All her life, she’s known where she’s supposed to be and what she’s supposed to be doing. Now? The ship isn’t that big, but the list of things she could be doing are endless.

(The crew have been weird. All she has to do is look at them and they’ll start explaining what it is they’re doing. It’s like they don’t know that only certain people are supposed to know things. She’s a princess, but she’s not Zuko. No one just tells her things that aren’t applicable to what she does.)

She decides to go back to her quarters, if only to put the training blades the corporal gave her in their proper places. It’s also where she goes now, when she doesn’t know what she should be doing. They’re not quite like her room back at the Palace. This room doesn’t have a window. That’s the main difference; there is a bed, a desk, and a place for clothes. Someone left a bag of hard candy on the bed when she first was assigned the room. It’s been sitting on the desk, even though she hasn’t heard anyone talk about missing it.

Once she puts the training weapons away, she’s now not certain what she should be doing.

That is incorrect. What she _should_ be doing is watching over Zuko. That’s not currently possible. So she should be learning the skills that will allow her to watch over Zuko better. Except she’s not sure what those even are, when she’s on this ship. She’s been learning from the crew, but...anyone could do that. They don’t make her specifically useful to him. If he needs a sailor, he’s got the pick of the Fire Nation Navy. Her purpose isn’t to be a sailor, or an engineer, or a navigator. 

(Even if Chief Tsui makes engineering interesting, even if Sub-lieutenant Shika shows her how to read the stars so she’s never lost again, even if Doctor Jian will answer any question about medicine she can think up. This is not her place.)

(She thinks she wants to _know_. Wants it more than she can find the words for.)

Her purpose is to watch his back, and she can’t do that when she’s so far away. She doesn’t know if she’ll be able to do that ever again. That’s what “banishment” means.

Someone knocks on her door.

Disgraced Uncle Iroh stands on the other side, for once not carrying a teapot. Instead, he holds a flat box, made of polished wood.

“May I come in, niece?” he asks.

Azula finds the lack of teapot odd enough that she takes a step back, and Disgraced Uncle Iroh walks into her room, closing the door behind him.

“Thank you,” he says. He looks uncomfortable, like he isn’t sure why he is here. She just stares at him from over the edge of the scarf, because she doesn’t know either. He’s never just come to spend time with her for no reason.

Finally, Disgraced Uncle Iroh holds out the box. “Please,” he says. “This is for you.”

Azula blinks and stares at the offered box. Then back up at him. He looks serious and determined. (He...does that thing with his jaw, same as Lu Ten did when he _really_ wanted her to listen to him.) She takes the box and opens it.

The interior is a beautiful red silk, a shade of red that reminds her of fire. Sitting on top of the silk is a pair of húdiédāo, blades polished so finely that the wave pattern in the high-grade steel gleams in the soft light of the room. The guards are also polished, a matte finish that contrasts with the blade and the hilt, which is wrapped in a dark blue rayskin.

They’re _beautiful_.

“They were my son’s,” he says quietly. Azula’s breath catches. “I think Lu Ten...he would be very happy if you had them.”

She can’t pull enough air in, her breath is feeling erratic, like it’s not coming at all. There are supposed to be words she’s supposed to say, but she doesn’t know them, can’t do anything more than stare at the weapons being given to her.

She tries. “I...”

Azula wants to say something to him. But she chokes on what to call him. Because she can’t call him Disgraced Uncle Iroh to his face, not when she’s holding these.

Somehow, he seems to understand that something is wrong. “What is it?”

She tears her eyes away from the blades. “I don’t know what to call you,” she admits. He blinks, looking confused. She tries to explain. “Honored Father, he told me to call you something, but...”

He sighs. “But I suspect it is unkind. What is it?”

Azula bites her lip, but his tone is still soft. “Honored Father told me to refer to you as ‘Disgraced General Iroh’,” she admits. “But...Zuko calls you ‘Uncle’, and Honored Father wasn’t upset when I used ‘Disgraced Uncle Iroh’.”

He stares at her for a long moment. “Would you like to call me ‘Uncle’?”

Her eyes go wide.

He crouches down, so he’s at eye-level with her. “Azula, I’d like it very much if you would call me “Uncle”. Even if it’s just when we’re out here, even if you can’t when we’re back in the Fire Nation. I certainly won’t tell your...Honored Father.”

“I can’t go back,” she says without thinking.

Disgr— _Uncle_ Iroh closes his eyes briefly and sighs. “I know he told you that you have to find the Avatar to come back, but — “

Azula shakes her head. “The Avatar is a spirit tale,” she interrupts. Uncle stops mid-sentence and looks at her seriously. She needs to explain. “The return conditions are impossible. Honored Father doesn’t mean for me to return. If he did, he would not have given me an impossible task.”

“Azula...” he whispers, sounding very tired. “Your father...he’s a hard man to please.”

She nods. “I know. There is no way I can do enough to please him.”

Uncle Iroh (and it’s _so good_ to be able to use that name) twists his face like he’s in pain. “You’re so young,” he whispers.

She didn’t mean to hurt him, not now, and not ever, not with how much Zuko loves him. Azula doesn’t know how to mend this hurt. He doesn’t look like he needs to see Doctor Jian. “Maybe Zuko will let me come back.”

“Zuko?”

She nods. “I’m supposed to protect Zuko, because Zuko is going to be Fire Lord. I can’t be useful to him if I’m banished. So if Zuko thinks I’m useful, maybe he’ll call me back when he’s Fire Lord.”

Uncle Iroh stares at her. “I think we are going to have some very interesting chats in our future,” he sighs.

Azula is not sure which part of that is confusing. It’s all very straightforward. And it’s certainly more productive than trying and failing Honored Father’s impossible task.

After all, _everyone_ knows the Avatar is a spirit tale. It’s not like she’s going to just find them floating in the sea somewhere.


	4. my native tongue is blasphemy (so that's the one i'll write)

Iroh gets his mail one evening while Azula is in his quarters polishing her húdiédāo with a soft cloth. The young crewmember who delivered it jolts slightly at the sight of his niece staring at him over her now-omnipresent scarf, before beating a hasty retreat. “I suppose I should ask you to refrain from terrifying our sailors, Niece.”

Azula turns her head slightly to face him, expression seemingly blank. He’s getting better at reading her, though, and can’t help but chuckle at her bewilderment. (He’s still ashamed at how much of what he read as his niece's “aloofness” or “haughtiness” was actually a complete lack of social skills. One day, he is going to have a _talk_ with his brother. A very long one.)

“You’re fine,” he reassures her. She goes back to her weapons’ maintenance silently. Iroh lets himself watch for a bit, quietly observing the precision and care she puts into caring for his son’s blades. It’s obvious, now that he knows what to look for, that the love Lu Ten had for his youngest cousin was, and still is, reciprocated.

His gaze wanders over to the scroll that was just delivered. The red ribbon and tag indicate that it’s from the Palace. Opening the scroll, Iroh is pleasantly surprised to see the seal of the Crown Prince, not the Fire Lord; he hadn’t expected to hear from Zuko so soon.

_Dear Uncle,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I know you didn’t plan to leave so quickly, but I’m really glad you went with Azula. How is she? I know I’m not supposed to write to her, but Father told me about the assassination attempt. He told me that the assassin didn’t succeed, but I’m still so worried. She’s okay, right?_

The first thing his nephew does is ask after his sister. Iroh doesn’t know how he would have taken that, had he not pulled his head out of the sand. As it stands, however, the fact that Zuko’s first thought is for his little sister makes him smile. The nonsense Ozai’s telling him about an assassination attempt, not so much. He knew his brother would weave some story. That the story has enough grains of truth makes things more difficult.

Iroh realizes he can’t tell Zuko the whole truth. Strictly speaking, all he has is conjecture as to what his brother did to his niece. He knows Azula doesn’t trust him enough yet. This is fair. But the behaviors he’s been able to recontextualize, along with the few insights into her thought process he’s been able to coax out of her, have started to paint a disturbing picture. Telling Zuko this now could break him away from his father, but without solid proof he’s afraid the boy’s loyalty would drive him into Ozai’s claws for good.

(He doesn’t want to mention the burn, he realizes. Not only would it run the same risk, but it’s not Iroh’s choice to make. Azula hasn’t taken off that scarf even when it’s just the two of them, and she knows he’s aware of it. After Doctor Jian showed him, he had helped her tend the wound more than once. There’s only one conclusion Iroh can make, and he’ll respect her choice to keep it hidden.

It’s the least he can do.)

_She has to be missing home. I know she had to leave quickly, so I thought I’d try to figure out if I could send her something through you. I kinda went into her room to find it, but I didn’t have any idea what she’d want. There wasn’t really a lot of options, but I couldn’t figure out what her favorite **anything** is. Does that make me a bad brother? I’d wanted it to be a surprise, but I really want her to have whatever it is more. Do you think you could ask her? Her room is super tidy! I’d be able to find it easily in there._

_Father put the condition of finding the Avatar on her banishment. He might be able to rescind it earlier if the danger dies down. But Azula should be home now; she shouldn’t have to wait for adults to be able to swallow their pride and acknowledge that she **is** that good. But that means finding the Avatar. Since I have access to the Royal Library, I’m trying to find any kind of clue to where they could be. I know the last one came from the Southern Air Temple. It’s not much, but I’m going to keep looking. There’s got to be something here that can help. The Archivist seems to think so._

His nephew wants his sister home so badly, his desire is all but burned into the scroll itself, present in every brush stroke. 

_I’ll make a copy of my notes and send them to you next time. I’m probably missing something. And if you do go to the Southern Air Temple, if you find any clues, I can use those too._

_Please stay safe, Uncle. And...tell Azula I miss her._

_Your nephew,_

Iroh chuckles at his nephew’s use of his official Royal seal as a signature. Cheeky boy. 

“Azula,” he says. The girl looks up from her work. Zuko wanted him to relay the message, but surely she’d appreciate reading it for herself. “Zuko sent a letter. It was addressed to me, but it’s for you.” Her hands still, and he can see her eyes get wider over the scarf. He smiles gently. “Here.”

She stands and walks over to his desk, where he hands her the scroll. He wants to see her realize how much her brother cares, which is why he’s watching when her face goes blank and her hands catch fire.

“Azula!” he shouts, bending her fire away and causing her to drop the scroll. It’s mostly only singed, although some of the edges are burned. He didn’t think there was anything in that letter to trigger that kind of reaction. He looks up from the scroll on the floor to his niece, and any reprimand dies in his throat.

Azula stands in front of him, statue-still and barely breathing, arms and hands flat at her sides. She’s looking at some point above his head, gaze directly forward. If he wasn’t looking closely, he would have missed the slight twitch in her shoulders like she’s trying to force them down.

She’s bracing herself for a blow.

Iroh swallows, regret sour on his tongue. He’s missing something. If there’s one thing he’s learned about his niece, it’s that she never does anything without a reason. The reasoning might not be clear to other people, but he’s learning that Azula is not prone to impulses. Even if it looks impulsive, there’s a solid kind of internal logic at play. So he needs to figure out what that is.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I was startled. I shouldn’t have yelled like that.” Azula is at least now looking at him, still tense, so he’ll continue. “What happened, though? I am missing something.”

She doesn’t say anything, but she ducks her head down and stares at the scroll. Before, he’d have said she looked angry and surly, obstinate in her refusal to answer him. Now? Well, she still looks angry. But he knows there’s a reason for it, and he’s also been learning that her silences are sometimes her not knowing the words instead of simply withholding them.

So he’ll wait. He reaches for his teapot and goes to refill it with fresh water, carefully choosing the tea to brew, and then coming back to his desk with two cups. He heats the water and sets the pot down to allow the tea to brew.

Azula is still standing in front of his desk, head still bowed. She hasn’t moved a muscle. (How many times has she done this? How many times has she had to stand still and silent, and for how long, until his brother released her? It’s so practiced.)

(The idea twists inside him, banks the fire in his heart and feeds it. It will burn him alive. He thinks it might be worth it.)

“Azula, please,” he finally says, as soft and gentle as he can. “Something upset you. You’re allowed to be upset. I just want to know why.”

“...Zuko wrote it in Court Huǒzi,” she finally says, not looking up. “He always gives me scrolls in Court Huǒzi.”

Iroh frowns. Court Huǒzi is the writing system of the Fire Court; all the official documents and the classical literature are written in that script. He learned it as a boy, before he even learned the Standard Huǒzi the commoners used. That was one more thing separating the wealthy and noble from everyone else, since Court Huǒzi is damn near unreadable if you don’t have the training. He’d learned the hard way in the army that most soldiers couldn’t read it at all. If he wanted his orders followed, he’d better write in Standard.

A terrible thought crosses his mind. Surely his brother wouldn’t do that. He _couldn’t_ have done that. Court Huǒzi is practically a birthright to the Royal Family. (He knows Zuko had been practicing calligraphy, his Court Huǒzi characters, before he was five. Surely Ursa would have...unless she hadn’t had a say.) 

“I can’t read it,” Azula blurts out, making Iroh’s heart hurt as his fears turn true. She’s still not looking at him. “I’m not stupid. He gives me scrolls I can’t read, but I’m _not_.” Her voice cracks a little at the end. 

(Ozai, what have you done?)

“You...can’t read Court Huǒzi?” Iroh asks, still as gentle as he can, trying to keep the rage burning inside tightly leashed. Not at his niece. It’s not her fault. She doesn’t deserve that.

“Yes,” she says, finally looking up at him. “Honored Father,” she hesitates a moment, clearly weighing what to tell him, “Honored Father told me that it was not a skill I needed, that I should not waste my time with things that are not mine to have. I should spend my time learning something to make myself more useful, not superfluous skills. Standard Huǒzi is good enough for the army. I don’t need more.”

“But...what about all the literature, the Royal Library, all the formal writing?” he asks, incredulous. “All that? How...?” Azula hunches her shoulders, and Iroh quickly changes track. “You’ve never been able to read any of that?”

“Honored Father said it would be wasted on me.” The worst part is that she doesn’t even sound bitter. She says it like she’s simply stating a universal truth, something that she’s heard enough times that it’s easier to accept the truth of the statement than fight it. If anything, she sounds _tired_.

(Iroh is going to have a very, _very_ long chat with his brother one day. This talk will have a _high_ probability of fire.)

He takes a calming breath. _This is not her fault._ “So when Zuko gives you something written in Court Huǒzi, and he expects you to read it...” Spirits, she would have thought he was _mocking_ her, thought he knew. Zuko couldn’t have known, Iroh knows his nephew would never do something like that. But he doesn’t know how many times Azula was made to look like an idiot for not comprehending what was on a scroll.

(She’s right. She’s not stupid, quite the opposite considering he’s been watching her soak up any information the crew gives her like a sponge. If Ozai hadn’t deliberately crippled her...)

Iroh studies his niece, who is now staring at her feet again. She didn’t respond to his almost-question, but her silence is all the answer he needs.

He wonders if he can fix this. He knows he has to try, knows he has to keep going forward and keep pulling back the layers of sins he chose not to see. He promised Lu Ten he wouldn’t look away again.

“Would you like to learn?” Iroh asks, still keeping his voice as gentle as he can. Azula’s head jerks up, staring at him with wide eyes. He ignores the pain in his heart and says, “I can teach you.”

“Honored Father — “ she starts.

“Is not here.” He says it as firmly as he can, all the authority of the General filtered down to soothe a child. Her jaw clicks shut. Gentler, he continues. “And you told me you know he didn’t intend for you to come back. He doesn’t have to know.”

He can see the hunger in her eyes as she wavers. Iroh decides to take a risk, pointing out “And you could read Zuko’s letter for yourself. He’d only write in Court Huǒzi if he thought for certain you could read it.”

(He wonders if the slight manipulation makes him as bad as his brother. He’s not going to fool himself by thinking the excuse of it being “for her own good” as anything _more_ than an excuse. But if it helps his niece to stop denying the things she wants and feels, isn’t that better?)

Azula remains silent. Finally, when he starts to think he might have miscalculated, she says in a small voice: “I don’t want to waste your time.”

Iroh breathes out, and gives her the warmest smile he can manage. “My dear niece, you are _never_ a waste of my time. I would be very happy to teach you.”

She slowly nods. “I...want to learn,” she hesitates a moment, “Uncle.”

“We can start right now, if you want.” He pours the brewed tea into two cups and gestures for her to come around to his side of the desk with her seat. While she gets settled, he clears the desktop of everything but the teapot and sets out his writing kit and a clean sheet of paper. “Now, the first thing to remember about Court Huǒzi is that it’s an older form of writing than Standard, but both share the same root...”

As Iroh continues the lesson, it doesn’t escape him that Azula hangs on every word, as intent on his explanations and brushstrokes as he’s seen her be with bending forms and bladework. When he offers her the brush to try practicing, she all but throws herself into it with a single-minded determination. The characters are smudged and ill-formed at first, but she keeps repeating the strokes over and over until the motions are smoother, if not yet natural. Teaching his niece how to write her own name shouldn’t feel so rewarding, but it does.

“Very good,” he says as he sips his tea. (Hers seems to be forgotten off to the side, but he can’t even be upset at the waste of tea this time.) “We can practice tomorrow. I should tell you some of what Zuko’s letter said.” 

Azula puts down the brush and looks at him. “You said I should read it myself.”

Iroh still thinks the amount of care his nephew conveyed in the letter is something Azula is going to need to read for herself; he doesn’t think he will be able to express it in a way she’d understand. Maybe that would change, but he can admit he’s still relearning the girl.

However, there is other information in that letter that’s equally important. “I did,” he agrees. “And you should, when we get you there. But,” he says, noticing the slight furrow in her brow, “there’s some information in there that you need to know now.”

Azula tilts her head to the side slightly.

“Your brother decided to help you in the search for the Avatar. He’s currently digging through the Royal Library. Since the last Avatar was an Air Nomad, Zuko was able to find reference to them residing at the Southern Air Temple.”

She’s clearly frowning, judging from the deepening furrow on her forehead. “Even if the Avatar wasn’t a spirit tale,” she says slowly, “the Air Temples have been abandoned for almost a century.”

Iroh sips his tea. “Zuko seemed to think visiting could be useful.”

He knows what happened to the Air Nomads. Every child in the Fire Nation knows that Sozin was forced to fight them, and that tragically, their refusal to surrender meant every last one of them died. Iroh’s had to sit through more than one play that contained a moving soliloquy by Sozin over the senseless death. (He remembers one particular rendition where his grandfather fell to his knees among the ashes of the Air Nomad warriors, full of grief and fury at how his hand was forced. If he remembers correctly, that one won awards.)

Iroh also knows it’s a load of dragon dung.

Except he didn’t learn the truth until he was an adult, until he ventured into the Spirit World in the hopes of understanding what kind of world would demand the life of his son. He eventually found that answer, and found that it was the kind of world where his own family were the chief architects.

Depending on how deep his nephew digs, Iroh thinks Zuko has a reasonable chance of coming to this truth much sooner. (He wonders if he could check with some old friends about who the current Archivist is. The position recently changed hands, which is a blessing as the former Archivist was a fervent warhawk who all but worshipped the ground Sozin walked on. Iroh had wondered if the old man lived on spite alone; his death had been quite the surprise.)

Azula, on the other hand...well, even if she had access to the Royal Library, he’d just discovered how useless it would be to her. No, she needed him to help show her the path. And that meant physical evidence. Oh, he knew very well that children need to discover things on their own, as that makes the lessons that much stronger. Add to that her obvious distrust, and he realizes that he can only nudge. Nudge, and then offer a safety net as she figures out her own way to fly.

Such as right now. He can see her turning over this information in her head, weighing the options against each other. Finally, her face smooths out. “I’ll go inform Lt. Jee of our change of course.”

Iroh can’t help but smile fondly as he watches her stride out of his quarters, red scarf flapping slightly.

——-

Azula thinks she doesn’t mind Lt. Jee’s company. The man had merely nodded when she informed him of their new course to the Southern Air Temple, and then told Sub-Lt. Shika to plot it. She _likes_ people who do their jobs and know what they’re doing. They understand their rules. You can’t argue with the rules, so it’s better to not bother and just follow them. She wishes everyone was so easy to understand.

Lt. Jee also gives her work to do when he notices her sometimes. It’s always when the thought-patterns in her head get too loud, start to repeat and twist in spirals that go nowhere, or when she’s sat still for too long without doing something. (Rest is necessary, she knows. But _laziness_ is not to be tolerated. _Idleness_ is forbidden.) (Sleep was what she was allowed. She could relax at night in her bed ; she could let the tightness in her chest, her back and neck, let all that go. It was that place where she could just _be_.

Until it wasn’t.)

He doesn’t ask if she needs something, doesn’t make her put things into words. And even though other people see her as a child, he knows that doesn’t mean she is useless. He knows how to make her useful, and that’s enough to stop her stomach from twisting up tighter and tighter the longer she’s stuck in the repeating thought-patterns.

Like right now. He handed her the spyglass when she met him on the bridge deck today. They’ve been sailing on the new course for the last few days. If it wasn’t for him and Sub-Lt. Shika explaining how to navigate, she wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. All the water still looked like water.

A sharp whistle pierces the air. Both Azula and Lt. Jee turn to look up at the crow’s nest, where Corporal Rùfen is signalling something with flags.

“Earth Kingdom off the port side,” he translates, then turns to her. “Confirm, please.”

Azula brings the spyglass up and looks. Sure enough, there is a small fleet of Earth Kingdom junks off in the distance. They’re still far enough away that she’s pretty sure they haven’t been seen yet. “Small fleet of junks,” she tells him.

Lt. Jee curses softly. “What in Koh’s name are they doing out here?”

“Where are we?”

He blinks, then motions for her to follow him. They enter the bridge, where Sub-Lt. Shika is currently checking over some of the maps. She looks up when they enter. “Sir?”

“Rùfen sighted Earth Kingdom off the port. How much trouble are we in?” he says.

Sub-Lt. Shika shifts so that both Azula and Lt. Jee can see the map. She points to a spot not far from the coastline. “This is our current location. There wasn’t any intel on Earth Kingdom naval activity out here, sir, but we aren’t exactly high on the communications list,” she says placidly.

Lt. Jee sighs. “Of course not.”

Azula is caught up in her thoughts, staring at the map. She’s seen this area before. Then it hits her: the map in the war room. The sacrificial recruits. _Zuko’s_ recruits. (The Agni Kai. Honored Father. _Burningpain why HonoredFatherwhy?_ )

“The 41st Division,” she whispers. Lt. Jee and Sub-Lt. Shika fall silent and turn to her.

“Princess Azula?” he prompts.

She blinks, then folds her hands behind her back as she stands up straighter to answer. “There’s a division in the Jiangxia colony, mostly made up of young recruits. Intelligence suggests that an Ox Brigade has cut them off by land routes.”

Lt. Jee and Sub-Lt. Shika share a look. Unsurprising, since they would know that the Ox Brigades were composed of some of the Earth Kingdom’s best forces. “They’re also cut off by sea now,” he says.

Azula nods. “General Koeda is in command of operations here. A Raijū Division is enroute. However, the strategy is for them to arrive after the siege is over and the fleet departs.”

“Of course it is,” he grumbles. Sub-Lt. Shika maintains a politely-bored looking expression. “The Raijū will have an easy time with the Oxen after the Onibi have whittled them down. I wonder which flavor of nepotism is driving _that_ strategy.”

“They won’t be expecting us to be in the area,” Sub-Lt. Shika says with little inflection.

Azula stares at the map. The fleet of ships she saw is small, but more than enough to be a serious threat to a landlocked division. The Onibi troops could very likely hold out until the Raijū reinforcements came, if that fleet wasn’t pincering them. It really wasn’t her problem. She had been banished, after all. And she knew Honored Father intended it to be permanent. That she happened to be passing the doomed division that had caused that is merely an odd coincidence.

Zuko spoke up in that war meeting to save them.

Azula has one ship, and a small one at that. It’s not enough to face a fleet head-on. There isn’t anything she can actually do.

Zuko wants that division to live.

The Earth Kingdom junks are made of wood.

Azula bites her lip. (It’s a good thing no one can see that behind the scarf.) 

What would Zuko want?

Well, when she puts it that way, the answer is easy.

“We can save them,” she says quietly.

To his credit, Lt. Jee doesn’t ask her to repeat herself. “What are you thinking?”

She points at the coastline. “The fleet I saw is small. And they’re junks. We could take them, with a few firebenders, if the ship could go fast enough.”

Sub-Lt. Shika raises an eyebrow, then looks at the map. “Could you show me their approximate positions?”

That’s not a refusal. She shows Sub-Lt. Shika what she saw. The woman hums slightly, then looks up at Lt. Jee. “We would have to be fast, but she’s not wrong,” the woman says mildly.

Lt. Jee stares at Azula. “Are you sure?” he asks. Then he makes it clear he’s not questioning her analysis or abilities. “Technically speaking, Jiangxia is a colony, which means we’d be entering Fire Nation territory.”

She understands that he’s really asking if she wants to disobey the terms of her banishment. It makes her feel warm inside for some strange reason, but that’s not enough to make her change her mind. Zuko would want her to save them. He’s the one who would have weighed the costs; she doesn’t get to question. So she nods to Lt. Jee.

He gives her a long look before nodding and walking over to the shipboard communication. “Chief Tsui?” he calls to the Engine Room. “You’re needed on the bridge.”

Chief Engineer Tsui stalks onto the bridge in a whirl of irritation and the distinct impression that they’d vastly prefer to be back in the bowels of the ship where they wouldn’t have to deal with irritating things like sunlight or other people. Azula would view them with suspicion, but everyone else seems to understand them even less than she does, so it might just be Chief Engineer Tsui. “What now?” they growl.

Sub-Lt. Shika doesn’t even blink. “We’re in need of your expertise.”

The Chief Engineer crosses their arms in front of their chest.

“How fast can this ship go?” Azula cuts in.

They slowly uncross their arms. “...officially speaking, or...?” they ask cautiously.

Azula scowls. The question was perfectly clear. Why are people like this? “I asked how fast can this ship go.”

Behind her, Lt. Jee mutters “Oh no.”

A strange spark enters their eyes. “What are my restrictions?”

(Lt. Jee buries his face in his hands. Sub-Lt. Shika pats him on the shoulder.)

“That it doesn’t kill us and we still have a ship that can get away?” Azula says, confused. This is not at all viable if they don’t have a ship afterwards.

“Time frame?” Chief Engineer Tsui demands.

Sub-Lt. Shika clears her throat. “I believe that ‘as soon as possible’ is the preferred answer. We have a very limited window of opportunity.” She pauses, considering something. “Our opponents would be Earth Kingdom junks, so keep their capabilities in mind.”

Chief Engineer Tsui stares at Azula for a long moment before a large, toothy grin slowly crosses their face. “I _like_ you, Princess,” they declare with a large amount of a feeling she can’t identify. “Give me two hours and I’ll have this ship running circles around anything the Earth Kingdom can throw at us. They won’t see the _Pariah_ coming.” 

Lt. Jee sighs. “Agni forbid we fail to live up to this ship’s reputation,” he mutters. “Do not make my ship explode,” he says to them firmly.

They look affronted. “Sir, the only explosions will be the ones _I_ mean to happen.” With that, Chief Engineer Tsui snaps off a salute and practically sprints off the bridge, back down to the engine room.

“That was not at all what I asked!”

Azula lets Lt. Jee’s grumbles fade into her background awareness, instead focusing on Sub-Lt. Shika’s map. She’s _not_ going to fail Zuko again. She refuses.

——-

Iroh pokes his head out of his door when he hears the commotion. He knows the energy that settles over soldiers when they suddenly have new orders, especially the kind of orders that turn a very boring, quiet day into a much less boring and quiet one.

“What’s going on?” He stops one of the passing sailors racing down the hallway. The question came out as more of an order than he intended, and the sailor noticed, given how his posture snapped straight into a perfect salute.

“Sir, the Earth Kingdom fleet was spotted outside Jiangxia. Princess Azula ordered that we’re to go provide reinforcements for the 41st, who are pinned down in the city.”

Iroh blinks once, twice. “She did _what_?”

——

Uncle Iroh enters the bridge at a run, sounding slightly winded. Azula frowns slightly when she looks up from the map. He’s old, but should she be concerned about his health? Maybe Doctor Jian would be able to make an assessment. Zuko would be devastated if anything were to happen to Uncle Iroh. (The thought of something happening to him makes her blood feel cold and fingers can’t still because there’s a threat somewhere. It’s a new experience. The closest she can remember is when Fire Lord Azulon wanted to kill Zuko. That she knows was _fear_. This...isn’t the same? But not entirely different?)

(Feelings are _dumb_.)

“Azula, _what_ are you doing?” he asks, a strange note in his voice.

“Determining how to take out a small fleet of junks with one ship,” she says. Sub-Lt. Shika has been very helpful with this. She’s familiar with raiding tactics, which is their best option as a starting point. Azula is certain she can make this work. (She’s never gotten a chance to fight with an advantage. That’ll be interesting, if it ever happens.)

Lt. Jee makes a noise that sounds like he’s muffling a laugh.

Uncle Iroh stares at her. Did she not provide a good answer? It is what she’s currently doing. Perhaps he needs more information. “There’s an Onibi Division holding the colony. They will die from the fleet and the Oxen Brigade before the Raijū reinforcements arrive. Zuko objected to that plan.”

He stares at her a bit longer, before pinching the bridge of his nose. “The 41st. And Zuko didn’t think it was good tactics to sacrifice rookies for no gain. So because he wanted them to live, you need to go rescue them.”

Azula nods, happy that Uncle Iroh understands!

“How novel,” she hears Sub-Lt. Shika murmurs to Lt. Jee. “When does the Crown Prince take over again?”

“Careful, Shika,” Lt. Jee warns quietly.

When Azula looks at her, Sub-Lt. Shika smiles placidly. (She thinks she might approve of Sub-Lt. Shika. She certainly seems to understand that Zuko is right about a lot of things.)

Uncle Iroh closes his eyes and breathes deeply a few times. When he opens them, his expression changes to be much more serious. “What is the plan? I may have been Army, but I do know some things about naval combat.”

Lt. Jee traces his fingers on the map near the coastline. “It’s a small fleet. Earth Kingdom junks, so wooden and likely repurposed and retrofitted merchant ships at that. Their siege is only effective because we had no ships stationed near Jiangxia and all the firebenders in the 41st are rookies. They don’t have to be good because they outrange our troops.”

Azula takes over, laying out the basics of her strategy. “We’re only one ship. But we have multiple firebenders. We can dart in, hit hard and fast, and then withdraw before they can all attack us.”

Uncle Iroh quietly stares at her. She looks back at the map, wondering if there’s something wrong with the strategy. It seemed obvious, but is she missing something? It depends on being faster than the enemy ships, but Chief Engineer Tsui said they could do it. She doesn’t know enough about engines (yet) to disagree.

“Azula,” Uncle Iroh finally says, voice very serious, which forces her to look up at him. “This will be a battle.” She nods. “People will get hurt. People will almost certainly die.” She nods again. Obviously. They are going to be setting the enemy ships on fire. Of course enemy sailors will die.

Lt. Jee and Sub-Lt. Shika go very still and quiet. She stares at him; she doesn’t understand why he’s bringing up the obvious. “I know?”

He sighs and rubs his face. “It’s going to be your _first_ battle. Your first time having to be responsible for someone’s death. You don’t have to be...out there, if you’d rather not.”

Azula blinks. “No it isn’t.”

“No one will think less of you if you stay on the bridge with the plans,” he says quietly.

She didn’t even think of that. Should she have? Instead she shakes her head. “No, it’s not my first kill.”

(She remembers that one. Honored Father had taken her down to the dungeons, down very deep beneath the palace, with cold stone on all sides. There had been a man in a chair. He had been shackled to it, heavy steel cuffs around thin wrists and ankles. The man looked very tired and very weak when he had looked up and seen Honored Father in the doorway. Then he noticed her.

“What’s this? Sending children to break me now?” he’d rasped.

Honored Father chuckled, as if the man had told a joke. “What’s left to break? No, you’re going to help me teach what we do with broken things.” He reached into his robe and tossed a knife onto the floor. It skidded on the stone, a harsh scraping sound that Azula still remembers echoing in her ears, still remembers how the faint light from the fire in Honored Father’s hand glinted off the blade.

“Azula,” Honored Father’s voice was sharper. She snapped to attention and looked up at him. He gestured to the knife. “Kill him.”

The man’s eyes had gone wide, wider when she went to pick up the knife. She didn’t know why Honored Father didn’t want her to firebend, but Honored Father had wanted her to use the knife so she would. She walked up to the man in the chair and looked up at him.

She had to climb him to reach his neck.

“You _monster_ ,” he’d shouted. “What kind of monster are you, what kind of child— “

His blood had been hot on her hands. It had felt hotter than her fire, which was ridiculous, because that wasn’t possible. She watched him stare at her, and she knew that was horror in his eyes, even as they went glassy.

“Azula,” Honored Father had said. “Come. We still have training.”

She hadn’t gotten the chance to wash the blood off until after training. By that time, it had dried sticky and dark on her hands. It had taken a long time to get clean.)

(This is what happens to broken things.)

Everyone else gets very quiet. Azula isn’t quite sure why.

Uncle Iroh frowns. “I see,” he says, then clears his throat. “That plan assumes we will have the speed and maneuverability to do that. This is an older ship and we don’t for certain know the capabilities of the Earth Kingdom ships.”

Lt. Jee laughs. It’s strangely hollow-sounding. “Tsui is working on that problem, spirits help us.”

Uncle Iroh looks alarmed.

(Their reactions are strange. Chief Engineer Tsui clearly knows what they’re doing. And they know _a lot_. She’d been curious about the engines and they just had _so much_ to tell her, it made her head hurt. Maybe after this she’ll try again, with more questions. She thinks she’d like that.)

——-

Iroh thinks Jee was understating things. Oh, Tsui had come through, that much was clear. However, he’s fairly certain that the designers of this vessel never intended it to go this fast. Actually, he’s not sure any of the newest ships in the entire Navy could go this fast. Tsui had sworn up and down that they were sure the engines “probably” wouldn’t explode.

That was not nearly as comforting as they thought it would be.

The _Enforcing the Way in Agni’s Name_ is now streaking like a comet towards the unsuspecting Earth Kingdom fleet. Almost all the firebenders on the crew are on deck, waiting to strike when they get in range. “Almost all” because Jee handed over steering duties to his second, as the sub-lieutenant is the better helmsman and therefore necessary for this crazy stunt. (Would Zuko actually do this? Oh who’s he kidding, Zuko would _absolutely_ do this.)

Iroh might be retired, but he’s not about to let his eleven-year-old niece go into battle alone. 

(His eleven-year-old niece who has apparently killed before. Iroh is very carefully not thinking about that right now. Now is not the time. Later. Later when he has the chance to vent his fury and his sorrow when it won’t hurt the one person he never will again. He knows Azula wouldn’t understand, not yet.

He doesn’t know if she ever will.)

So he stands on the deck next to Azula. He smiles a little when he sees the sheathed húdiédāo at her sides. She looks up at him, golden eyes brighter than a hunter’s moon over the red scarf covering the bottom half of her face.

He thinks about what he should say, what he wants to say. Does she need reassurance? No, conviction and confidence is something she doesn’t lack. “I will need to teach you Pai Sho after this, dear niece. I think you might enjoy it.”

(“Don’t die” is what he means. “I will watch your back.” “Be careful.” “I’m worried about you.” Iroh hopes she understands.)

Azula doesn’t get a chance to answer because Shika has the _Enforcing the_ — curse it all, he’s using the nickname rather than that ridiculous name — the _Pariah_ spinning into a hard turn and sliding right past the first Earth Kingdom ship. He can see the shocked and panicked looks of the sailors, who clearly did not expect this Fire Nation ship to be on top of them so fast.

Iroh breathes deep, and the sky erupts in flame.

——-

Sub-Lt. Shika is a very good helmsman, but even with Chief Engineer Tsui’s modifications, Azula knows she wouldn’t be able to evade all of the ships in the harbor. There are simply too many of them and ship-to-ship combat is _slow_.

That and their enemies noticed they were being attacked after the third ship got set on fire. They’ve actually started trying to retaliate, meaning Sub-Lt. Shika has been executing some quite impressive evasive maneuvers. (Azula wonders if she could learn how to do that.)

The crew has had to dodge some arrows, but no one has been seriously injured. But it’s only a matter of time before the enemy pulls out the fire arrows or worse weapons that Lt. Jee had warned about. Those would be much harder to dodge. 

A fifth junk sees its sails set alight, the fires eagerly leaping to the main mast. She hears the sailors shouting as they try to put out the flames, but with each firebender hitting multiple spots on each ship...well, they’re Earth Kingdom, not waterbenders.

(Why are their ships made of _wood_ when their enemies bend _fire_?)

Someone behind her swears. “Incoming!”

Azula ducks while everyone else hits the deck, avoiding the rocket flying over their heads. Sub-Lt. Shika sends the ship turning hard again. All the adults stay down, not wanting to lose their footing, but Azula trusts her footwork enough to stay upright.

Which means she’s the one who notices their enemy on the last ship, still just out of their range, loading the pitch bombs into the trebuchets. Pitch bombs were dangerous to firebenders: a single one could coat an entire deck with extremely flammable pitch, meaning any firebender would be a serious liability. Not to mention setting the entire deck on fire.

That one projectile could kill them all.

Azula cannot let that missile fire.

She races down the deck to the bow and leaps onto the railing. Weeks of practice balancing means that she can stay steady enough, even with all the evasive maneuvers. She runs along the railing towards the tip of the bow, getting as close to the Earth Kingdom ship as possible. Sub-Lt. Shika clearly hasn’t seen the bomb yet; she’s still chasing the other ship.

Azula judges the angles. She’ll need to leap ahead of their ship to do this if she doesn’t want to miss. She’ll have to pray that Sub-Lt. Shika doesn’t swerve.

(She doesn’t know how to pray. It never worked before.)

She launches herself off the railing, bending a fire dart in her left hand, her good one because she can’t miss (she’s not allowed to miss, not now not ever), and hurls it towards the Earth Kingdom ship at the apex of her leap.

She falls, and there is no deck below her, only the uncompromising sea. Sub-Lt. Shika must have seen the danger, seen Azula leap, and started to evade. The ship, _her_ ship, is just there, not out of range. She can still just reach out for the tip of the bow. 

Except...she forgot, it’s on her right side. The _bad_ side. 

Blue fire streaks towards the enemy ship...and lands dead-center on the bomb in the loaded trebuchet.

It explodes.

Azula’s hand catches the edge of the railing. Her shoulder flares in pain, feels like someone is striking her with lightning. She can feel tears spring to her eyes and she grits her teeth. If she falls, she dies in this harbor.

If she dies, she’s _failed_. Dying to protect Zuko is one thing. Dying here is not that.

The last junk goes up in flame.

Her grip on the railing holds.

——-

Iroh knows his heart actually stopped in his chest when he saw his niece leap off the railing. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this kind of absolute mind-numbing terror, not in his first-ever battle, not when facing a dragon, and certainly not when standing before his father declaring he would take the Impenetrable City. No, this was his heart in his throat, please-spirits-no mind utterly blank with nothing but the sight of this child hanging in the air like a fire falcon.

Then she’s falling and Iroh hysterically wonders if this is what airbending feels like because he’s never moved this fast in his life. He barely even notices something exploding as he sprints across the deck and leaps over sailors who aren’t moving fast enough to get out of his way.

There’s a small hand clinging to the railing at the tip of the bow. 

Azula stares up at him, and he wastes no time in reaching over the railing to pull her up to safety. Once she’s in his arms, he falls back to the deck, pulling her close. She’s stiff in his embrace, like she doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to react, and he knows his heart is beating again because it _hurts_ again. (He doesn’t need to see her face to know she has that not-a-glare bewilderment that’s becoming achingly commonplace.) But there’s a _living_ little girl in his arms and he’ll take that over most anything else.

“I think I hurt my shoulder,” Azula offers, clearly at a complete loss for what an appropriate response is. Iroh loosens his hold and sits back slightly, and yes, he can see that she’s holding her burned shoulder slightly awkwardly. There’s a hesitation, a wariness in her eyes as she watches his reaction.

(He knows what soldiers hiding injuries looks like. Now he knows what one looks like when they never realized they didn’t _have_ to do that.)

(That future talk with his brother is growing ever-longer. And quite possibly final.)

“I think we should have Doctor Jian take a look, then,” he says, trying to infuse as much warmth into his voice as possible. She still looks hesitant. “You did well, Azula. Your plan worked.”

Iroh knows he still has a lot to learn, still has a lot to understand before he can even hope to untangle the web of contradictions that is his niece. But when he sees the slight crinkle of her eyes that can only come from a small, pleased smile, he knows he’s willing to work for it.

——-

Jian has to force his face into seriousness as he examines the princess’s shoulder. It’s her put-upon face, really. Well, what he can see of it. He knows Yuka gave her that scarf, and honestly? It’s pretty cute that the kid hasn’t taken it off yet. That it also keeps debris away from her still-healing face is just a bonus.

He’s been taking care of injuries since the end of their little skirmish. It’s been mostly bumps and bruises, and one person having hit their head against the pipes, which he’s thankful for. The princess has the worst injury he’s seen today, and from what he’s heard, he would have been dealing with so much worse if she hadn’t stopped that pitch bomb.

Jian’s seen the aftermath of those bombs. Smelled them, too. The scent of roasted human flesh isn’t exactly something you forget easily, and although he’s used to seeing burns, it’s another thing entirely when you’re told an entire squad went up in flame. It’s different when the element you respect, the one that gives you comfort and support turns against you completely like that. It’s different when you know the survivors think the dead are the lucky ones.

So yes, he’s very thankful that the princess managed to stop that attack. He’s less thankful that it was her, rather than any of the actual adults involved, but he just has to look at her face to know a losing battle when he sees one.

Jian is not paid enough for that, thank you very much.

Anyway, the princess definitely pulled the scarring on her shoulder. Thankfully not as badly as she could have. “You didn’t tear it badly enough to start bleeding,” he says. “But you also didn’t do yourself any favors, pulling the muscle. We’re going to have to immobilize it.”

He starts wrapping her shoulder in clean bandages before she can get too outraged. (The General sits in the corner behind her now — and what a welcome change that is — trying and failing at looking fondly amused.)

“If you don’t want me to immobilize it,” Jian says calmly, “I don’t have to, but it’s more likely to get permanently screwed up. Just...take it easy for a few days.”

They both know that’s incredibly unlikely. He’ll tell Rùfen to go easy on the exercises for a while.

The kid looks surly, but like she’s at least listening. Jian likes patients who react sensibly when you tell them about the _consequences_. If only everyone else would do the same.

He starts cleaning up the used bandages and rags to take away. They’re running low on some supplies (mostly those for seasickness) but Jee had decided that stopping in Jiangxia was worth the risk. Especially after they had saved the division, who might be willing to part with those supplies. They have some money if they’re forced to purchase from the locals, but the _Pariah_ is a cursed ship and somehow, Jian doesn’t think they’re very high on the budget priority list.

There’s a knock on the door just as the princess finishes pulling on her shirt, so Jian goes to open it. Yuka stands stiffly in the doorway. “Sorry, sir,” she says. “The captain wants to know if Princess Azula is all right enough to meet him on the bridge.” He raises an eyebrow and she shrugs. “Some people from Jiangxia want to talk to her? I don’t know.”

He turns to the other occupants of the infirmary. “I’m banished,” the kid says, “I’m not supposed to set foot in Fire Nation territory.”

Jian catches the General’s glance and shrugs. “I won’t tell.”

“That’s not how banishment _works_.”

But she hops off the bed and heads out the door to follow Yuka anyway. Or have Yuka trail after her. The General gives him a mock long-suffering look before heading out himself. Jian closes the door and shakes his head. He has a feeling things are about to get _very_ interesting.

Cursed ship _indeed_.

——-

There’s an Army captain waiting on the bridge with Lt. Jee. He looks jumpy, which he proves as he jolts when Azula comes in. “Great Agni, it _is_ the Princess,” he mutters. He then looks wide-eyed and bows very low. “Sorry, Your Highness!”

Azula is unimpressed.

Sub-Lt. Shika coughs in the background.

Lt. Jee rolls his eyes. “Captain, you said you wished to talk to Her Highness?”

The captain clears his throat. “Thank you very much for coming to our aid, Your Highness.” He looks uncertain. “We...understand that this wasn’t supposed to happen,” he says slowly.

Azula just stares at him. He must have gotten a message about the strategy, about how his men had been condemned to die. She’s...not sure what to say. He doesn’t _seem_ like he’s upset that he won’t die between the Earth Kingdom army and navy.

The captain looks over at Lt. Jee. There’s something clearly unsaid, because the captain turns back to her. “My soldiers are young, but...we can hold off the Oxen, especially if I tell them that the Raijū are coming. I hadn’t told them, before, about the veterans. I couldn’t do that to them.”

“It wasn’t my idea,” she says. The captain stops, blinks hard.

“I was told you ordered it.” He hesitates. “And...that you fought for it. In the capital.”

Azula feels a growl of frustration in her chest. She can’t take credit for the idea, not when it was Zuko’s. She’s just his hands here. “I did order it. The idea wasn’t mine. And that’s not what the Agni Kai was for. It was Zuko.”

“Crown Prince Zuko?”

She isn’t even going to bother responding to that. Does he know another Zuko?

Lt. Jee sighs quietly and rescues the captain from his obvious inability to understand simple facts. (She decides she _does_ like Lt. Jee.) “I believe what Her Highness means is that Crown Prince Zuko was your advocate, and she is too modest to take any credit beyond fulfilling her brother’s will.”

It’s not _modesty_ , but she refrains from correcting because the captain is nodding as if everything suddenly makes sense. “Ah! How unexpected. I apologize, Your Highness, for questioning your honorable intentions. I meant no disrespect to the Crown Prince,” he says, bowing. All right, maybe he does understand things better. “We are still very thankful that you came to our aid.”

Sub-Lt. Shika shoots her a look over the captain’s shoulder, raising an eyebrow and nodding slightly. Azula thinks it’s meant to be encouraging, perhaps as a hint of getting out of this conversation? That’s helpful. Azula nods slowly, which does seem to be the correct response as the captain smiles.

“The civilians are also included in that,” the captain says. “The elder would like to speak with you. He’s waiting on shore, if you could indulge him.” The captain looks uncertain again. “I know the elder had some...concerns. I believe he’d feel much more at ease if he knew his concerns were being heard. And if he knew he had as strong an advocate as the Crown Prince.”

“I’m banished,” Azula says automatically.

Sub-Lt. Shika smiles without any teeth. “I don’t think anyone here will talk.”

“That’s not how this works.”

Sub-Lt. Shika just keeps a vaguely amused expression on her face. Azula scowls. She shouldn’t. The rules of this banishment say she shouldn’t. She only knew it was fine to break them because Zuko would have wanted her to. Now though...she knows she’s really not supposed to set foot on Fire Nation land. That...was pretty clear in the rules.

But if she saved the division for Zuko, if she’s just acting as she should, acting as an extension of _his_ will, then...shouldn’t she finish the job? The colony civilians are just as much Fire Nation, are just as much Zuko’s, as the soldiers were. He’d...he’d probably care about them more. Because he’d say they’re weaker, so they should be protected or something like that. The rules are different for people like them.

(She’s never been allowed to be anything but stronger.)

So Zuko would want her to at least go listen to the old man. And if that means breaking that rule again, well, she knows not listening to Zuko would be worse.

So she nods at the captain and follows him off the ship. Lt. Jee joins her. 

(It feels _weird_ to be on land again after so much time on the ship.)

The captain leads her to a building just off the docks. It looks like a small restaurant, empty except for young soldiers and one old man in the corner. The old man stands as they approach and bows deeply. “Princess Azula, this one is honored by your visit.” He straightens.

Lt. Jee bows at her side. “Captain Tatsuo mentioned you had some concerns?”

The old man nods. “We are very grateful for your assistance. I do not think many of us would survive if the Earth Kingdom forces had overrun this village.” His eyes look haunted. “If we were lucky, we would merely lose our homes and fields. But there is too much Fire Nation in us to be allowed to live.” He sighs. “We are fortunate that we have a division here. But there are other colonies that are not so fortunate.”

Lt. Jee is silent at her side.

“There are villages and colonies with the opposite problem,” the old man continues. “There is too much Earth Kingdom in them, so while they are not put to the dust when the earthbenders come, their fields still burn. And when the Fire Nation reclaims them, they are not so careful against suspected sympathizers. And anyone who survived under an occupation is suspect.”

Azula chews her lip. This is not what the textbooks she was given told her. The Fire Nation is supposed to be bringing progress and prosperity to the other nations. The colonists are all supposed to be Fire Nation citizens, regardless of their descent. It’s not supposed to matter, especially not when reclaiming a colony. They’re _rescuing_ their citizens. Because even if they were occupied, they’re still _their citizens_.

That’s what it’s supposed to be.

But when Azula looks at the old man, the elder of this village, she’s disturbed to see that he’s telling the truth. The relief at not being subjected by the Earth Kingdom is real and makes sense, but the fear and sorrow for this other colony is also real. Somehow...”How do you know?” she demands.

The old man looks even more tired. “My nephew lives in Yiyang. They were under occupation by the Earth Kingdom. But they’re being blockaded by some overzealous Navy commander who demands every last sympathizer to be handed over.” He shakes his head. “There’s none left. Yiyang is a colony of children and cripples. And the Navy is starving them. My nephew only got the messenger hawk out just before the net closed.”

He falls to his knees and presses his head against the floor at her feet. Azula is alarmed; no one has _ever_ offered her dogeza. “Please, Princess Azula,” the old man begs, “please help them. They are just as much Fire Nation as us. Please grant them mercy.”

This doesn’t make sense. This is not how it’s supposed to be, not what she’s been taught. She wants to violently reject the idea, accuse the old man of lying, because that’s not what Honored Father said. Honored Father said their army and navy are _honorable_ , not the kind of brutes that would prey on children.

(Her jaw hurts.)

What would Zuko want?

That...makes this surprisingly clear.

“Lt. Jee,” Azula says, clinging to the one thing she knows makes _any_ sense. “Set a course for Yiyang. We seem to have some citizens to rescue.”

——-

Wen never really put much stock into divination. Her grandmother had been the priestess at the village shrine and had taught her as a girl how to read the bones. She had found it mildly interesting then, but had seen it more as a chore than anything else. Wen still remembers the bitter disappointment from her grandmother when the woman found out that Wen was going to the capital instead of wasting her life in a tiny village shrine. She left the village and her future as a priestess over fifteen years ago and never regretted it.

That doesn’t mean she doesn’t still know how to read the oracle bones.

She rubs the shell of the oracle turtle between her hands, feeling the indents she’s prepared in the curved bone. The oracle turtle who had given this shell had been old, had lived a full life and went happily to the spirit world. Wen knew how to read those signs as well. One should never use the bones of an oracle turtle who had been killed for their shell. Not unless one wants to be cursed with bad luck, along with their children and children’s children.

(Wen had doubted that as a girl, until she saw it happen. A man had come in for a divination and offered the shell. Wen’s sister had not known how to read the signs for an oracle turtle’s death and had performed the divination. Within a year, two of the man’s children were dead, and his wife gone mad. Within two, the man was dead. They had found a broken turtle shell in his throat.)

(Wen’s sister never read the bones again.)

She picks up the scribing tool and considers what she needs to ask before deciding on the questions she always does. Wen has asked the spirits every year to tell her the fortune of her charges: for Prince Lu Ten when he lived, but always for Prince Zuko and Princess Azula. And every year, she got the same results, the same generic answers of some good fortune, some bad.

Having seen the Royal Children’s luck for herself, Wen had discovered an even deeper skepticism for divination.

(How could she not, when the oracle bones failed to tell of the Princess’s exhaustion for years, the burns on small wrists and the closed-off looks on small faces? When they failed to give warning for a child about to be attacked in her sanctuary, about to lose the only home she ever knew? How could she not be skeptical as she watched the Prince spend more and more time in the library, looking more and more lost? When she had to fill his table with his favorite foods just to ensure he ate _something_?)

But at this point, the ritual itself is soothing. When things change so rapidly, it’s a talisman, nothing more, a thing to clutch close to her heart as a tie to the place she came from. It’s a tradition she does, even just for herself, every year. 

So she scribes the questions on the futures of the Prince and Princess into the shell of the oracle turtle. When she has finished, she sets down the scribe, lights the fire in the shallow pit in front of her, and tosses the shell into the flames.

There is a loud cracking as spiderline fractures form in the bone. The fire goes out suddenly.

Wen stares. That has never happened before.

She reaches into the pit for the shell. It’s cool to the touch.

Swallowing around the sudden tightness in her throat, Wen picks up the shell and starts to read the bones.

Somehow, she isn’t surprised to discover that the answers have changed quite drastically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta [RakshaTheDemon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RakshaTheDemon/pseuds/RakshaTheDemon) wrote an intro to the ship's crew, if you want to read their reactions to getting the assignment: [woke up in a ditch (still in uniform)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25829077)


	5. the prison and the shackles colonize you brick by brick (leading by example)

Azula isn’t sure what to expect in Yiyang. The elder in Jiangxia had only said that there was an “overzealous Navy commander” blockading a village that could not possibly give into his demands.

“That’s not exactly a defining feature,” Lt. Jee says dryly. Sub-Lt. Shika coughs into her hand.

Uncle Iroh gives him a look, then sighs. “I wish I could say you were wrong.”

Azula frowns. This does not sound like what she was taught; instead, it agrees with what the old man had said. She shifts her weight slightly, uncomfortable with that thought, then freezes when she realizes what she’s doing. (Fidgeting is _wasteful_ , fidgeting is a _tell_ , be still or you will be _made still_.)

Uncle Iroh notices. “Niece? What troubles you?”

She could lie to Uncle Iroh. She could tell him it was nothing important or something else, but...she’s not sure she wants to. (That’s...surprising.) He didn’t laugh at her when she told him she couldn’t read Court Huǒzi. He didn’t even say it was a waste of time. No, instead, he offered to _teach_ her. (She’d told herself for so long that she should stop wishing, because wishes didn’t come true, wishes were for other people. If spirits granted wishes, they wouldn’t waste them on hers.)

Did Uncle Iroh react that way just because it was Court Huǒzi? Or could she not lie about other things?

“Azula?”

“I don’t understand,” she admits quietly. Uncle Iroh makes a noise; it sounds encouraging. “The texts...Honored Father says that the Naval commanders are honorable, that they dedicate their lives to the glory of the Fire Nation and give their lives to protect citizens.” She frowns. “But...the elder had no reason to lie. And you...you are saying he was not wrong.” Her head hurts. The contradiction doesn’t make sense. And Lt. Jee and Sub-Lt. Shika do their jobs well; she can’t see why they’d lie for a random old peasant.

No one answers her immediately. Finally, Sub-Lt. Shika sighs quietly and crouches in front of Azula so their eyes are at the same level. “It’s confusing, because that’s not what we learned in school, correct? Because if this were a play or an opera, we’d be told we were the heroes, right?” Sub-Lt. Shika’s voice is quiet. “ All the plays _do_ say that. All the heroes are soldiers or sailors who are fighting to bring our gift of fire to the rest of the world in darkness, help those who need it, protect our own, all of that, right?”

Azula hesitates, then nods. That’s exactly what all the plays she ever got to read were like. Sub-Lt. Shika is a soldier, and a commoner. Honored Father gave her the same lessons the sub-lieutenant would have had. 

“I know you know the plays are fiction. We can _aspire_ to be those heroes, but they don’t exist.” Sub-Lt. Shika’s expression doesn’t shift, staying just as serious. “But the other truth is that we don’t live in that world either. Fire is light, but you know it burns too.” Her gaze holds steady, not straying to the scarf-covered burn. “And sometimes, instead of heroes bringing light, people are far more interested in burning everything they can. Instead of heroes, some people are wildfires.”

Wildfires are what happens when a firebender loses control, when the flames rage and burn so fiercely, they consume other fires. And other firebenders can lose control of their _own_ fire. Wildfires are _dangerous._ The only way to stop them is if enough people maintain control to suppress them, or they burn until there’s nothing left. And the stronger the wildfire, the harder to suppress.

She is calling _people_ wildfires. “You’ve seen it before,” Azula says.

“I have.”

Sub-Lt. Shika’s face gives nothing away, but Azula thinks the next question is _important_. “What happened?”

“The thing about wildfires,” she says, voice feeling heavy, “is that they have to burn. They’ll burn anything in their path...or they’ll burn you if you try to fight them.” She closes her eyes for a moment, breathes deeply like she’s meditating before opening them again. “Some leaders think these wildfires are useful. That they can be used against enemies.”

Azula frowns. “But...you can’t control a wildfire. Everyone knows that.”

Sub-Lt. Shika’s lips twitch upwards slightly. “You’d be surprised.”

Lt. Jee clears his throat. “Is that what the treason charge is for, Shika? Fighting wildfires?”

“Suspected treason, sir.” Sub-Lt. Shika doesn’t rise from her crouch, doesn’t stop looking Azula in the eyes, and doesn’t change her expression from a slight upward tilt of the lips. “If they could prove treason, I’d have been dead instead of in prison.” Now she sets her mouth in a flat line. “Are you okay with that, Princess? Depending on what we find at Yiyang, we very well might be looking at that.”

Oh. It’s not that Azula hadn’t realized this at all, it was more that she had deemed it of lesser importance to what Zuko would have wanted. But now Sub-Lt. Shika is looking at her like she expects an answer. (It’s not a...bad expectation. Not demanding. It seems softer somehow?) So now Azula has to think about it.

She knows what happens to traitors. 

(Traitors are broken things.)

But Honored Father banished her, and Azula knows that he means for her to never return. He has already said her life is forfeit if she tries. Treason does not change that. She could do it, she thinks, if she had to.

But Zuko could call her home. If Zuko ordered it, Azula would go home. But if she were to have committed treason then...she nearly staggers at the thought of it, at the very idea of betraying Zuko. Everything in her rebels against the idea.

(“Azula?” Uncle Iroh asks, sounding very far away.)

She pauses, and takes those two thoughts and holds them. Turns both of them over in her mind, trying to figure out the shape of them, because they are similar and not the same. She _could_ be a traitor to Honored Father. She _cannot_ betray Zuko. 

The Fire Lord’s authority is supposed to be absolute.

Honored Father’s is not. _Zuko’s_ is.

And Zuko would want her to go rescue those citizens. Even if it meant committing treason.

( _“Why do we have to sacrifice them?”_ )

It...doesn’t matter what Father wants.

Azula looks up at Sub-Lt. Shika and nods. “Yes.” Then pauses, thinks a moment. “Are you?”

Sub-Lt. Shika’s lips twitch higher this time. “Well, if I’m going to be accused of treason, I might as well _really_ earn it. But you should probably ask your uncle and our ship’s captain, at least.”

Azula turns that piece of information over in her mind, then turns to look at the two men. Lt. Jee looks tired, but also amused somehow. “I should probably have seen this coming when I got assigned to captain the infamous cursed ship. Really, I don’t know what I expected.” He smiles, and then offers her a deep bow as her eyes go wide. “I’ll follow you, Princess, wherever you ask me to.”

That’s...that’s not how this is supposed to go. It’s useful that he’s going to be helpful and assist her, but _follow_ her? No one follows Azula. She isn’t special or inspiring or worth following. She’s not...she doesn’t...she’s _Azula_.

Not that it matters, because Uncle Iroh is also in the room, and Uncle Iroh hasn’t said a word yet. He hasn’t said a word, and for some reason, she really doesn’t want to look up at his face. She knows she’ll see rage or disappointment because Uncle Iroh fought for the Dragon Throne, and Lu Ten died, and Azula is saying she thinks she could commit treason against Father. ( _Honored_ Father. Where...where did that come from? _Never_ just Father. That’s not his title. It’s burned into her mind, so she will not forget herself.) (Searing heat and ash in her throat _notFathernotFather_ ) She doesn’t know why she’s afraid to look, because he used to not really look at her at all. That’s normal. The last few weeks have been an aberration. The standard pattern would have to reassert itself sometime. It’s fine. She knows it’s fine.

(So why is she afraid to look? Why does her chest _hurt_ at the idea of Uncle Iroh looking at her like he used to? Or like Honored Father?)

“Niece,” Uncle Iroh says, soft but unyielding, “look at me.”

Azula looks.

Uncle Iroh has crouched down so he is also face-to-face with her, a solemn look on his face. He gently places his hands on her shoulders, doesn’t seem to notice when she straightens up (his hands are cool, not heavy at all). “Azula, I’m sorry.” He takes a breath. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you before. I’m sorry for all the things I did that hurt you.”

“But...you didn’t hurt me, Uncle Iroh.” Azula knows this. Uncle Iroh has never burned her or struck her, even in training, even in an accident! She’s pretty sure she would have noticed that. Uncle Iroh might be old, but he is still the Dragon of the West.

For some reason, Uncle Iroh looks sad. “That you think that...I’m sorry. I’m so very, very sorry.” He gently tugs her closer, then wraps his arms around her torso, pulling her against his chest. Her arms are pinned, but it’s kind of nice? Zuko did this before. Uncle Iroh’s feels a bit different, but that might be because he’s bigger. But he’s still able to hook his chin over her shoulder. “I won’t leave you again, Niece.”

“But...you could go home,” she points out.

Uncle Iroh shakes his head. “Not without you.”

Eventually, his hold on her loosens and he lets her take a step backwards. Lt. Jee and Sub-Lt. Shika are very intently looking at some of the dials on the instrument panel. Lt. Jee clears his throat. “We’ll assemble the crew on the deck. They should be allowed to make a similar choice.”

Sub-Lt. Shika stays on the bridge (“Someone needs to steer the boat, sir.”) as Azula watches the crew stand on the deck in neat lines. She stands next to Lt. Jee on the bridge deck, with Uncle Iroh behind her. (She feels some of the tension in her shoulders bleed out; not all of it, because she knows showing her back to someone isn’t safe, but Uncle Iorh is much safer than anyone else.) 

Finally, the last crewmember steps in line. Lt. Jee nods sharply. “I know there are a lot of rumors going around,” he starts, loud enough to be heard across the ship but not actually yelling. 

(Azula wonders if she can learn how to do that, and tries not to think about the hole in her face Honored Father left her.) 

( _You will learn to control your tongue_ )

“First, there’s the rumor that we are headed to the colony of Yiyang. That is correct. Then there’s the rumor that it was taken by Earth Kingdom forces. Also correct. That we are going to help liberate the colony. Correct. That we are going to be facing our own Navy.” Lt. Jee’s voice doesn’t falter, and he pauses as if to make sure everyone understands. “Correct.”

Azula watches as the crew reacts, mostly shifting uneasily, some sideways glances. No one interrupts. Most are looking at Lt. Jee. Some are looking at Uncle Iroh. A few are looking at her. (She notices Corporal Rùfen in the last group. Her instructor has a strange smile, and then notices her gaze. The smile gets wider.)

Lt. Jee waits a moment for the crew to settle before he continues. “We have been informed that a Fire Nation Naval force has blockaded the port at Yiyang and is demanding all Earth Kingdom rebels and sympathizers to be turned over. The successive invasions of Yiyang devastated the civilian population, claiming all able-bodied adults. The civilians cannot comply with the commander’s demands because there is no one left. Princess Azula was requested to break the blockade. She agreed.”

Azula feels the gazes of the crew shift from Lt. Jee to her. All she can do is look back at them over the top of the scarf. She’s not going to let her stance get unrooted by stares of all things, not going to show weakness by taking a step back. There’s then a weight on her shoulder, not too heavy and not too warm: Uncle Iroh’s hand. It settles her feet, just a bit.

“Some of us have chosen to follow her. There is a chance this is a rogue actor,” Lt. Jee says, drawing the crew’s attention back to him. “It is equally, if not more, likely that the commander is technically under valid orders. In that scenario, we will be committing treason. We will be acting to save and protect _Fire Nation citizens_ ,” he stresses, “but we will most certainly be acting against lawful orders. We will almost certainly be branded as traitors.”

Lt. Jee folds his hands behind his back. “We will be making a stop in Wuzhang tomorrow. If you do not want to do this, you will be able to get off the ship there, and truthfully say you remained loyal. No one is to be forced to stay. For some of you, this will be the last time I speak to you as your captain. To you, I say that it has been an honor and may the light of Agni bless you.”

He bows once to the crew, then steps back onto the bridge. Uncle Iroh squeezes Azula’s shoulder lightly, then follows him as well. But she doesn’t want to move. She’s far more interested in seeing how the crew reacts. Lt. Jee’s and Sub-Lt. Shika’s reactions were surprising; she wants to know if they were exceptions or not. But it’s difficult, with so many people and so many different facial expressions. She can’t read them all.

Some people are holding themselves stiffly, still in parade rest, like they’re lagging a few minutes behind everyone else. Others are wide-eyed, looking at each other, faces pale, hands shaking. Some have already gone back to their duties. There are crewmembers casting glances up at her, some of them with narrowed eyes, others looking more confused.

“See anything interesting?”

Azula blinks and looks up at a grinning Corporal Rùfen leaning on the railing next to her. “You’re quiet,” she says, irritated. She hadn’t even known she was that close! (That would have been classified as “disappointing” back at the Palace. And forced her into “situational awareness” drills.)

Corporal Rùfen laughs lightly. “I’m a scout, kid. I don’t care how good you are; if I can’t sneak up on you, I should just slit my own throat and save someone else the trouble.”

That makes it slightly more acceptable. Slightly.

Corporal Rùfen looks at her from the corner of her eye. “We can drill that too, kid, if you want.” She continues to lean against the railing and look out at the waves.

Azula tilts her head to the side. The corporal is straightforward when she speaks. If she is offering to teach, that means she will be present in the future. She is not leaving. “Yes,” Azula says. 

And she doesn’t understand why Corporal Rùfen, why _any_ of them would make this choice. Because she knows _she’s_ the one who is banished already but _they’re_ not, not really, they can go _back_. They still have homes. What is she worth compared to that? She’s just a tool, useful for certain things. (She needs to be useful to have _any_ worth.)

The thought-patterns are too loud in her head, tumbling over each other and getting mixed up and spiralling around and around to a point down where she can’t ever reach. (Azula knows she needs to break the pattern before it drowns everything else out, before she needs something else to break it for her) (Honored Father had to do it once. Azula made sure he never, ever had to repeat it.) So she doesn’t stop herself from asking “Why?”

Corporal Rùfen hums, looking up at the clear blue sky. “Maybe,” she says slowly, “I’m tired of being told to die for the wrong reasons.” She shifts her gaze over to Azula. “Or maybe I’m tired of being punished for surviving instead.” She shrugs one shoulder, then pushes off the railing. “Could be a lot of reasons, kid. I think you might be surprised.” The corporal takes off with long strides back to climb up to her usual spot in the crow’s nest.

Azula stays on the bridge deck, staring out at the ocean as they speed to Wuzhang and fate.

——-

In the end, seventeen sailors walk off the ship at Wuzhang with plans to never return. True to Lt. Jee’s word, no one stops them. Yuka watches them disappear into the town from the deck of the ship. She just wishes Enlai wasn’t with them. 

She can’t blame him, not really. The man has a kid, seems to really care about the kid. Staying would be a lot harder for him; he’s got a lot more to lose if he turns. So it makes sense that he’s walking away. (She pushes down the jagged edges of hurt, down with all the other broken pieces that just wanted someone like that to _care_. Should have known better.)

“You can still go,’ Koji says quietly to Fai, who’s standing next to her. He’s not wrong. Fai could. Spirits, Fai _should_. This is Fai’s first posting, he’s pure Fire Nation, _and_ he’s a firebender. He walks into the first military outpost and says he walked off a ship turning deserter, no one would ask a single damn question. They’d pat him on the back and probably give him a commendation or something.

She’s pretty sure if she or Koji tried that, they’d get shackles or flame to the head, but she’s not one-hundred-percent positive on that.

“You’re my friends, Koji,” Fai says softly, but with a hint of steely determination. “I’m not leaving.”

“Fai,” Koji pleads.

“No.” Fai’s spine doesn’t often come out to say hello, but when it does, Yuka’s reminded of the komodo rhinos he works with.

Koji’s shoulders slump as he gives up the argument and accepts that Fai is joining them in this thing that’s almost certainly going to end in treason. 

“Besides,” Fai says, voice a lot less serious, “where _else_ am I going to find a _friendly_ earthbender to rub soot into all my clothes?”

“I said I was sorry I borrowed your shirt!”

“That you then spent a shift bending coal in.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to use _mine_ after Tsui found out coal counted as a rock.”

Yuka rolls her eyes and tunes them out. They’ve only been having this argument for the last three days, ever since Koji had gotten drafted by the chief engineer to help with their terrifying modifications for the battle at Jiangxia. She, thankfully, got to stay far away from the engine room and instead spent a fairly nerve-wracking but uneventful time with the non-bender troops just below deck. Just in case they got boarded.

Their first bit of combat and both Fai and Koji had been useful. She’s fine with that. Really. Yuka knew that’s how it was going to be, after all, even in the army. Benders were going to be more useful than non-benders. She’s made her choices. She’s _fine_.

“Yuka?”

Fai’s voice dredges her up out of her thoughts. His face is slightly pinched, a concerned expression across it. “Are you okay?

She tries to smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She doesn’t know how successful she is.

Probably not likely, since he looks especially dubious. And maybe she’s a bit of a terrible friend, because she knows Fai won’t push. Even when it’s obvious he knows someone is blatantly lying to him, he won’t call them out on it. So when he slowly nods and smiles back at her, she just feels even more like shit.

Yuka sighs and leans against the railing. Koji and Fai bracket her on either side. The colony in front of her isn’t very big. Just a little more than a supply port, really, but she can see the beginnings of a few small farms in the distance. It’s certainly not a big enough place to get lost in.

Especially not someone like her.

She thought about it. Of course she did. She couldn’t _stop_ thinking about it from the second Lt. Jee put the option out there. Yuka could get off this stupid ship (get off the _ocean_ ), go to the nearest military command, and get herself into some army detachment since she’s already on the ground here. So much closer to the Earth Kingdom than to ship her back to the Fire Nation and find her another naval posting, right? She could be deep in the Earth Kingdom before her father even got notified. Which, of course, he would be. (She’s not stupid enough to think otherwise)

As long as she survives, after all, she wins. On paper, legally, Yuka is her father’s eldest child (no matter how much everyone involved in this situation absolutely hates this fact). Fire Nation law says that she inherits. Which is a really good reason for Yuka to be one of those sailors getting the hell away from this cursed ship.

Except...

Except...

Except she stood on the deck when their captain told them everything, and Yuka saw the little Princess standing next to him, wearing the scarf _she_ gave her. That stupid, useless thing that Yuka had kicked herself for being an idiot about, because like the _princess_ of the _Fire Nation_ would want whatever cheap thing Yuka had. That scarf. And Yuka suddenly realized she hadn’t seen the little princess without that scarf since she’d handed it over.

Oh Agni, it sounds like the _stupidest_ reason ever. To stay on a boat and commit treason because a little girl liked the accessory she gave her? (Let’s not even mention the “cursed ship” part, because at this point, that’s so far down the list of why this is a bad idea) Maybe she should go see Doctor Jian to get her head checked, because there’s clearly something _wrong with her_.

Right?

There’s something wrong with her. That’s what Yuka’s been hearing all her life. She doesn’t look like she should, doesn’t fit in with her family, just a little bit shorter, darker skinned, a bit too broad to be _right_. (Once, she overheard her step-mother asking why the state-orphanage hadn’t just _drowned_ her as an infant. Father had mumbled that they couldn’t, not after they knew where she’d come from. And he had claimed her.) (Yuka knows her step-mother meant for her to hear it.)

Yuka’s the defective one, the one that doesn’t belong anywhere. No one’s ever wanted her around. And that’s fine. She’s used to it. It doesn’t matter anymore and she doesn’t need it. She doesn’t need anyone else. All she has to do is what she’s been doing all her life, and survive long enough to tell her family they can see themselves off to Koh’s Lair. That’s all.

So if that’s true, why did standing here between Koji and Fai feel like a puzzle piece finally clicking into place? (Their shoulders press against hers in a solid way that grounds her, even as the waves lap against the ship. Steady as a rock and warm as a hearth.)

Why did the sight of the little Princess standing up there in the scarf Yuka gave her feel like a revelation? Why did it feel like warmth, like someone finally, _finally_ appreciating that she tried so hard, even if it wasn’t a lot? 

Is finding a place to belong worth risking it all?

The on-shift sailors start raising the gang-plank and untying the moorings, getting the ship ready to depart. 

Yuka feels Fai let out a deep breath. “Well,” he says. “no going back now.”

Koji laughs, sounding more than a little nervous. “Yeah, here we are.”

Yuka shifts to keep her balance as the ship starts to pull away. She keeps her eyes on the waves, lapping against the shore, and thinks of inevitability and change and that sometimes only by risking destruction can you hope to build.

“No going back now,” she agrees. 

——-

Rùfen thinks she can consider herself something of an expert in stupid plans. She’s had commanders who couldn’t order an eel-tuna to swim or were dumber than a rock-sponge or _both_. And nevertheless had to follow their plans.

She came back that time, much to everyone’s surprise. Including her own.

And the second time. And the one after that.

Fact is, Rùfen holds the (probably disturbing) record for “highest number of suicide missions completed”. By quite a bit, considering most of the competition usually doesn’t get past the first one. It’s a tough field like that. And the people who give the missions aren’t always the brightest flames.

So yes, she’s probably an expert in stupid plans. The one her princess-slash-sometimes-student came up with? Well, it’s insane. Completely and utterly unconventional, very-risky, we-are-playing-with-fire-and-highly-volatile-substances insane. But it’s not stupid. And it’s explicitly not a suicide mission. Her orders were very clear on that one.

Rùfen thinks she might adore her little student for that. Oh sure, the kid hadn’t don’t anything as dramatic as tell her that she wasn’t allowed to die or something else taken from a low-budget theater festival. But Rùfen knows when she’s being assessed, when someone makes sure you’re fit to go, but is also intent on memorizing everything they can in your face. She knew what that burning in the kid’s gaze meant.

She used to do that to Nezha every morning at Ba Sing Se. Five hundred ninety-ninety times she did it. Five hundred ninety- _eight_ times he came back.

(“Rùfen...”

“Commander? Commander, where’s Nezha? Where’s my brother?”

“Rùfen, I’m so sorry...he saved my life and I’m so sorry.”)

(Of course he died the next day, the six hundredth day. Of course the siege broke then. Of course Nezha died for nothing twice over.)

So yes, Rùfen knows what that sort of gaze means, and she understands that her little student would greatly appreciate it if Rùfen did her the favor of not dying while doing this stunt. Which honestly? Puts the kid at least 85% better than all the other commanders she’s ever had.

She’s so proud.

That still doesn’t make rowing this boat in the middle of the night by herself any easier. It’s not that she’s annoyed she can’t bend; she wouldn’t have lived this long as a scout if she relied on her firebending for every little thing. (Agni, that pissed her off about some of her cohort. Don’t get her wrong, she can’t imagine not having an inner fire burning in her core, but she’s not about to let it become a crutch. She’s seen too many firebenders get complacent...and then get very dead.)

No, the real annoyance is all this rowing. Rùfen still doesn’t know how an army scout ended up on a Naval ship, but the army did not prepare one for this amount of rowing. As for the other bit...well, it’s not as if she was going to be staying on a _Fire Nation Navy_ ship for much longer. And it’s not like the army did her any real favors either, unless not dying in a mine with lungs full of coal dust counts. (No, that was mom’s fate. Her kids got shipped off across the sea to die in exotic locales with lungs full of _other_ rock dust.)

And her little student is already better than the vast majority of all the commanders she’s ever had. 

Including her uncle.

Rùfen calmly sets the oars down on her lap and dunks her hands in the sea to prevent them from flaring. She closes her eyes a moment and regulates her breathing. 

(Rock dust and blood in her mouth and screams in her ears. Throwing themselves against the stones of a wall as stones throw themselves at them. And everywhere, anywhere, the sky burns and burns and _burns_.

They have to keep pushing forward. That’s the only way. The only way this will end. They’ve come too far and they’re so, so close.)

Thinks of nothing but the burning flame in her spirit and the salt air on her tongue. 

(Tears carving through the ash and grime on her face. Mom died in the mines years ago. Nezha came to tell her as soon as he saw the casualty lists and their father’s name. The siege is twenty-seven days old and they hold each other because they’re the only two left.)

Once her breathing is steady, she pulls her hands out of the water, picks up the oars, and continues rowing. Glancing down, she notes that the package in the bottom of the boat is still dry and safe.

(She doesn’t scream when she hears the order. Does not rage, does not shout. The siege was six hundred days old and died when the prince did. The general ordered a retreat; he’s lost his son, you see, and can’t go on. The walls that were so close to falling will stand.

She thinks about the hollow place inside herself where everything she lost and everything she used to be lived, and wonders if grief can burn as hot as rage.)

She might hate the man, but her student is trusting her and Rùfen hasn’t failed an impossible mission yet. She wasn’t about to start now.

——-

Yuka is very quietly trying not to panic as she steps onto the Fire Nation warship behind Lt. Jee. They had approached Yiyang that morning, and sure enough, the _Golden Wings Brushing Against the Clouds_ sat blocking the mouth of the river the town sat on, effectively cutting it off. The _Pariah_ had stopped well-enough away, and apparently, the plan involved trying diplomacy first. That would be great and all, except for the part where Lt. Jee then selected _Yuka_ of all people to be the one to accompany him as the envoy to the warship.

So now here she is, with just her captain, closer to the actual ocean than she’s ever been in her life (this is fine), and then on a warship much larger and better equipped than their own ship (this is fine), surrounded by sailors who don’t know the two of them are about ten words from turning traitor (this is not fine).

Lt. Jee, she notes, looks completely calm and possibly mildly annoyed about the weather. This is probably why he’s the captain.

They don’t have to wait that long for the other captain to come sauntering over. No, it’s just long enough that even Yuka knows it’s meant to be insulting but not long enough to be actually a violation of some rule. Which really tells her everything she needs to know about the large man with the questionable side-burns in the captain’s uniform, because it’s _exactly_ the same kind of power-play her father would have pulled.

Yuka hates him immediately.

Lt. Jee bows, Yuka following half a second later. “Thank you for allowing us aboard, Captain Zhao.” This is clearly why he’s the one in charge.

Zhao smirks. He gives her a glance, a once-over assessment, then dismissal. (She makes sure her hands are carefully folded behind her back, in absolutely perfect parade-rest. Just like Father. She knows how to deal here.) “Ah, Jee,” he says. “I see they’ve finally given you a ship.” His smirk grows. “What’s its name again?”

“ _Enforcing the Way in Agni’s Name_ , sir.” Lt. Jee’s voice stays completely level.

“Right! But,” he draws out the word pointedly, “I had heard some _terrible_ rumors about that ship.”

“She’s a perfectly fine ship, sir.”

“Well, that’s a relief to hear!” Zhao says with a smile Yuka very much doubts the sincerity of. “So tell me, Jee, what brings you all the way out here? I wouldn’t have thought your course would bring you so close to the colonies, considering...well, I’ve heard about what your ship is carrying. Unfortunate luck, that.”

(Yuka pushes down the roaring rising up in her ears, because _she’s a person, you dick, the little princess is a person_ ) (Too close, she’s too close, _not now_ )

Lt. Jee shifts his weight slightly, and Yuka remembers herself, schools her face again. “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand your meaning, sir.”

A flash of irritation crosses Zhao’s face before he smothers it. “Perhaps that had only been a rumor, then! I’d heard your ship was playing nursemaid to the banished princess.”

“No, your information is correct,” Lt. Jee says pleasantly. “Princess Azula is aboard the _Enforcing the Way in Agni’s Name_. She regrets that she cannot meet with you herself, but alas, the Fire Lord’s terms are quite clear. So she sent me in her stead.”

“I see,” Zhao says, not quite scowling. “What does...Her Highness...wish to speak with me about?” He draws out the honorific so that’s just shy of an insult. Yuka never thought she’d meet someone who’d make her want to punch them in the mouth faster than her half-siblings, but apparently Captain Zhao over here exceeds expectations.

(Her hands clench a little tighter behind her back and grip the fraying net of her control. Not. Now.)

Lt. Jee smiles without teeth. “Citizen petitions. Yiyang has begged relief and for their port to be opened.” He tilts his head upwards. “Her Highness, of course, understands your...diligence...in rooting out Earth Kingdom insurgents in the area.”

“In that case, Her Highness,” Zhao nearly sneers the honorific this time, “should understand that ‘diligence’ requires not being taken in by sob stories of peasant collaborators.” He takes a breath, schools his face into something more pleasant. “I apologize, the Princess is young. I expect this is difficult for a tender heart to learn. But better she learns now that this is the _Earth_ Kingdom, and the dirt and shit insurgency needs to grow like a _weed_ is in their _blood_. The only way to deal with weeds is to burn them out so they don’t choke out anything useful.” He shrugs. “If that means the entire village must burn...well, I’m sorry that the Princess has to learn that the world is so cruel.”

Yuka is pretty sure the little princess knows more than this dick does about that already. Lt. Jee, meanwhile, keeps his smile unchanging. Really, she thinks she wants to be him when she grows up.

“Ah, so you will not be willing to lift the blockade?” Lt. Jee asks.

“No, I am not,” Zhao says, eyes cold.

Lt. Jee raises his chin again ever so slightly. “Even if Her Highness were to order it?”

“I would remind _Her Highness_ that she is banished. She has no authority in Fire Nation waters.” Zhao narrows his eyes. “I’d also remind her that it is quite risky to draw so close. It’s so very _difficult_ to tell where the borders are. We wouldn’t want a _mistake_ to happen.”

“Your concern is noted, Captain Zhao,” Lt. Jee says agreeably, then bows. “We shall take our leave.”

Zhao grunts and they turn to leave. Yuka can feel his gaze on their backs as they head back to the little rowboat that they took over. She knows it follows them as the boat is lowered back into the water. Silently, Yuka picks up the oars and starts rowing them back. She knows Zhao has stopped watching them from the deck of his ship when Lt. Jee turns around and sits down behind her.

“Well, that could have gone better,” he says ruefully.

“Really?” she blurts out, incredulous, then feels her face go red. “Sorry sir.”

Lt. Jee laughs. “No, no, you’re right. Captain Zhao is...well, we’re all about to damn well commit treason so what’s the point in being respectful anymore? The man is ambitious but has no more sense than the spirits gave a turtleduck.”

Yuka swallows. “So...that’s it? The plan, sir?”

He sighs and stands up again. “Correct. The plan’s on, crewman.” She knows he’s started bending fire in his palm in the prearranged signals, both to the ship and to wherever the corporal managed to hide herself, to let them know that talking failed (like they guessed it would). He sits back down when finished and picks up the second set of oars.

Yuka just keeps rowing.

——-

“Apparently, our attempts at negotiation have failed, Niece,” Uncle Iroh says from her side before he goes out onto the bridge deck. Azula nods, seeing the flickering signal fire on the ocean from Lt. Jee. She hadn’t expected it to work. Not from what Lt. Jee had told her about the captain of the warship. And who would listen to _her_ anyway?

(She tried to explain this to Uncle Iroh. He’d just smiled and pointed out that there was a crew that was following her, not him.)

(That _still_ made no sense.)

It didn’t really matter, though. The point of Lt. Jee talking with the captain wasn’t really to convince the warship to leave.

It was to distract everyone on the warship while Corporal Rùfen planted the thunder-crash bombs at the stern. So when Lt. Jee gave the signal, she lit the long fuse and started rowing back for the shore.

The explosives Chief Engineer Tsui designed for the rudder on the _Golden Wings Brushing Against the Clouds_ are quite impressive.. 

“ _Drown_ your ancestors, Rùfen, we want them _crippled_ , not _sunk_ ,” Sub-Lt. Shika growls, throwing her weight on the ship’s wheel. The ship lurches into motion, ready to move since Chief Engineer Tsui had prepped the engines.

She can’t do more on the bridge, so Azula steps out onto the deck. Uncle Iroh is already waiting, looking calm as he settles into a stance. It’s different from the one she knows, more fluid and less sharp, more grace than force. (It must work; Uncle Iroh is the only other lightning-bender besides Honored Father. But what do the differences mean?) (She needs to be better. She doesn’t know if she can ask him, because what if it’s too much?)

The other Fire Nation warship is not idle. They have its attention, and they have it wounded already. The warship starts to speed towards them, and although they’ve damaged its ability to maneuver, what it lacks in mobility it more than makes up for in firepower. 

Azula has never fought an opponent with an actual tactical advantage before. That hasn’t changed. So her plan is to simply never face the warship in open combat. If she doesn’t have the tactical advantage, she makes it.

(Her opponents have always been bigger, faster, stronger, older, more skilled, less tired, less injured, better in every way and Honored Father accepted no excuses for not winning. Failure just made the next time more challenging.) 

( _You will be perfect or you will be nothing at all._ )

The larger warship has more powerful weapons than they do?

Uncle Iroh inhales, rotates his arms, and launches a lighting bolt directly at the main ballistae on the ship.

That’s two.

Smoke rises from the deck of the warship, but no out-of-control flames. Azula narrows her eyes, assessing the damage. They didn’t actually want to destroy the ship; that’s why Uncle Iroh aimed for the ballistae, not the trebuchets. The lighting would have lit the pitch instead. This is still a _Fire Nation_ ship, still their people, however wrong they are. 

(It’s so hard to remember that they’re wrong. The thought-patterns want to twist in and around on themselves, confuse her until she doesn’t know which way is up or down or what is real or not. Honored Father is always right. Zuko is always right. 

Except these now contradict. One cannot be true without the other being false. If they’re following Honored Father’s orders, if they’re following the Fire Lord’s orders, they can’t be wrong...even if they are. That is what Father would say.

She remembers the taste of ozone on her tongue and iron in her teeth from the last time she ignored what Zuko wanted.)

( _You will be perfect or you will be nothing at all._ )

Azula knows she already made her choices. She will not second-guess them now.

They’ve gotten their attention. The _Golden Wings Brushing Against the Clouds_ gives chase, and she gets that too-tight feeling in her chest and twisty feeling in her stomach again because Lt. Jee is still in the boat out there, still in between them. She can’t turn back now, and he hasn’t yet made it past the trap.

The thunder-crash bombs on the rudder were not the only explosives Chief Engineer Tsui produced. They had smiled widely when Azula had explained what she wanted, eyes very, very bright. They came back with a few sealed barrels full of blasting powder. All they needed was a hit with a hot-enough flame to be set off, even floating in the water. 

So while Corporal Rùfen rowed out to shore to sneak around to plant her explosives, other crewmembers quietly anchored the barrels out in the dead of night. They’d lead the warship right into the trap before setting them off.

Now, the plan is in motion. All that’s left is the timing.

——

Lt. Jee drops the oars and all but tackles Yuka to the bottom of the boat.

“ _Flame and ash_ ,” she swears as a damned _lightning bolt_ flies over their heads and slams into the warship. 

He gives her an incredulous look. She realizes what she said and feels her face get hot. “Sailor,” he says sternly, “we have a _reputation_.”

“In my defense, we also have an eleven-year-old on board.”

He snorts. “You may have a point there.” Lt. Jee shifts to allow her to sit up, at which point she realizes they have bigger problems on their hands. While the warship now lacks a ballistae, it still has trebuchets and the men onboard don’t seem to be letting something like distance stop them from using them.

A flaming ball of pitch-covered rock slammed into the ocean somewhere off to her left. 

“ _Row_ , sailor!” Lt. Jee yells, like Yuka needs to be told twice. She hears him grab his oars again to join her. “We just need to clear the line!”

Easier said than done. Yuka pulls on the oars, trying to keep the rhythm, focusing down on just that, the push and pull. She thinks she hears her heartbeat echoing loudly in her ears, the rushing of blood and the steady thrumming drum beneath it all. 

Lt. Jee is shouting. She thinks it’s encouragement. He sounds distant. The drums, the one-two one-two.

Another ball of flame crashes down near them. The boat rocks.

Yuka keeps rowing. One-two one-two push-pull push...

There’s a whistling high above. Someone’s grabbing her shoulders and pulling her down.

Yuka sees her world about to end in fire. And _pulls_.

The rowboat jerks to the side, pulled along by a non-existent current, out of the path of the flaming projectile as a wall of water slices between them, preventing the boat from capsizing. The rock sinks into the sea and the wall quickly collapses behind it.

——-

Azula stands coiled in a bending stance, eyes focused on the line of explosives and the warship. Something deep inside her roared when the other ship’s men started aiming their trebuchets at Lt. Jee’s rowboat instead of at their ship. Another sin of dishonor, of failure, she could report to Zuko.

There’s no second guessing, no regretting this path now. She knows she’s right. 

(Zuko is very particular about honor.)

A few things happen very quickly. The warship launches a flaming rock, with a trajectory that puts it right on top of Lt. Jee’s position. 

The warship enters the center of the barrel trap. 

Lt. Jee’s rowboat suddenly moves to the side like it’s being pulled, sliding it neatly out of danger. 

A large wave, almost like a wall of water, comes from nowhere and positions itself between the rowboat and the warship like a shield.

Azula wastes no time and launches a fire dart with pin-point precision at the barrel closest to the warship. As Chief Engineer Tsui promised, not only does that barrel explode, but the others are placed closely enough that the shrapnel causes a chain reaction, blowing two small holes in the hull. It’s not enough to sink the ship, but it is significantly damaged now. Enough that it decides the tactical move is to withdraw.

From her spot on the bridge deck, she can see the captain of the warship. (Zan? Zhuge? No, Zhao. That’s what Uncle Iroh said.) He’s glaring at her, shouting something uselessly, because she doesn’t know how he expects her to hear him from this distance. He’s still shouting as she turns away to go do more important things.

Azula notices that Lt. Jee’s rowboat is still there, with the two people still alive in it. (That tight feeling in her chest loosens, which is both a relief and weird. She’s not sure why it was tight in the first place.) She tilts her head to the side and tries to see who the other person is. Oh, that’s the crewmember who gave her the scarf.

(There’s that warm feeling that’s not fire in her stomach and the weird fuzziness in her blood again.)

She considers what she observed. The movement of the rowboat at that moment was not natural. The wave was not natural. She’s observed Lt. Jee firebending. The obvious answer, then, is that the other crewmember is a waterbender.

Azula blinks. Huh. A Fire Nation waterbender. How does that work? Are the bending forms the same? _Can_ they be the same? Or is it tied to an element? So many questions. She’s never had a chance to face a waterbender before. (She doesn’t even have to fight this time.)

Huh. It’s a good thing they’re on a ship.

——-

Yuka is...okay, let’s assess this. Yuka is lying on the bottom of the boat, after having been tackled by her commanding officer (again). She just did that thing she was really never supposed to do if she wanted to keep living, that being _waterbending_ , and she did it right in front of said commanding officer. 

Lt. Jee stares at her quietly, sitting back and hands folded in his lap.

Nope, he definitely noticed. She’s going to die. The worst part is how pleased her father is going to be that his plan worked, despite how _hard_ she tried. One mistake. She’s done everything right, and it’s just one mistake, and she’s now going to die anyway.

“You’re a war child, aren’t you?” Lt. Jee says softly.

It’s kind of obvious now, but Yuka can’t make the words come out past the lump in her throat, so she just nods. At least he used the kinder term for...her kind. The ones who’ve been cursed since the womb.

“The South?” he asks, still quiet.

“I...don’t know.” Who knows when the last time a Northern Water Tribe woman came past the Arctic circle? She’d have had to come from the South. But it’s not like she ever knew who her mother was. (She was a _number_.)

“I see. I’m sorry.” He sounds like he really means it. She thinks she really would have liked to have been him when she grew up.

Lt. Jee picks up his oars again and starts to row.

Yuka blinks, then sits up. Hesitates a second, then blurts out “I thought you were supposed to kill me. Since you’re supposed to exterminate waterbenders. Sir,” she adds as an afterthought.

He gives her a piercing stare. “The Fire Nation _Navy_ is supposed to exterminate _Southern Water Tribe_ waterbenders. I don’t think the rules apply anymore, sailor.”

——

The streets of Caldera City can be a certain kind of dangerous to the unwary or the unprotected. Wen is neither of these. She knows the streets well enough to know which areas to avoid at which times of day, knows who accepts what bribes and who will not, and if all else fails, the seal she holds in her hand is prominently visible as she walks back to the Royal Palace. Only the very brave or the very stupid would dare attack someone who carried the seal of the Palace, and neither of those lived long enough to be a danger.

So Wen has no reason to scuttle and lurk between shadowed doorways late that night, like she’s a bit part in some terrible production of a children’s cautionary tale. Instead, she walks back to the Palace with the air of someone who knows exactly where she is going and expects the rest of the world to get its act together.

It’s really quite effective.

It also allows her time to think over what she learned at the meeting at the teahouse this evening. The dissident Red (the woman had still not provided an actual name) had looked incredibly pleased with herself when she had entered and announced that she had heard the most _interesting_ rumors. Wen already had a terrible feeling when Red had stared quite pointedly at her as she said the last part.

Red had then proceeded to regale them with stories from the colonies of Navy ships being crippled, of troops that overstep being punished, of a cursed ship guarding the colonies like a vicious dog.

“A cursed ship?” someone had asked.

“The _Enforcing the Way in Agni’s Name_. It apparently has quite a colorful history,” Red had said. “But more importantly, that’s the ship carrying the banished princess.”

Everyone had turned to look at Wen. “There have been...whispers...of something causing the Fire Lord’s displeasure,” she said carefully. The Palace held too many secrets for people who only wanted gossip to understand. The kind of secrets sharp enough to kill and heavy enough break the strongest man. The kind of secrets that can strangle those whose tongues are a little too loose. 

(Secrets that look like large burns on too-small wrists, that sound like tired small footsteps dragging to a training hall, that smell like ash and blood that won’t come out of training clothes. These are secrets that are not hers to tell.)

Wen knows to keep these secrets.

“Seems odd,” someone muttered. “I’d heard she was practically his little shadow. Following him whenever they actually _saw_ her.”

“Seems like she’s not too happy with her father’s decision,” Red had commented. “This has been going on for weeks.”

“Isn’t the Dragon of the West also there?” another person brought up and the conversation moved on to speculating about General-Prince Iroh’s involvement in whatever this was.

Wen supposes it was interesting, considering the implications as she navigates the darkened streets. But she’s not going to lie to herself; everything else became secondary after the information about Princess Azula had come up. She knows the child is skilled, but firebending is one thing, picking fights with the Navy is another thing entirely. And how long has this been going on? Red had said weeks, but that was based on the rumors. And Wen will not risk her small, but growing, network in the Palace on a rumor shared like a common scandal. (She needs more before she’ll share with these people, because it is not just her life she is setting close to the flame.)

Although that did coincide with the increase in Naval commanders visiting the Palace. Oh, there were always an ever changing number of men and women with more ambition than sense or self-preservation, those whose abilities are measured in cruelty and who mistake fear for leadership. The oddity had been a few of the visitors being lower-ranked than the usual set.

If this was what those meetings were about, the Chief Administrator of the Royal Household is keeping an iron fist around the information. Wen would not be surprised if the man is handling all requests of the Fire Lord personally. (It certainly explains why the rest of their lives have been calmer; the man would try to micromanage a beehive. Like most nobility,he had been bred to be perfectly pretty and perfectly useless at anything resembling practical work.)

She considers this as she reaches the Palace and shows her seal to the guards before slipping inside. Perhaps that’s why she follows the routine she has kept for years, because it’s only when she passes a certain tapestry does she realize her mistake. Her feet have brought her to the wing where Princess Azula’s room is. A room that she has not had reason to visit in months, as her charge no longer resides there.

(Eleven years is a difficult habit to break.)

The door to the princess’s room is cracked slightly ajar. Wen can see the faintest flicker of light through the crack. For once, she hesitates instead of walking away. Her charge is no longer here, and no one else should be here. If she goes to look, will she regret it? What cost will her silence be? 

If she does not, is the cost higher?

(Will one of her children pay again?)

Wen opens the door.

Prince Zuko looks up from his spot on the floor, startled. He’s bent over a scroll, a small flame burning merrily in the palm of his hand.

She bows deeply. “Many apologies, Prince Zuko, I did not mean to disturb you. I merely saw the light from the hall.”

He waves the hand not currently holding fire. “It’s fine.” She bows again and backs up to the door. The boy seems to simply want to read in his sister’s room. It is probably for the best that he does this at night anyway.

“Wait!” Prince Zuko whisper-shouts. She does, and looks up at him. He’s staring at her, forehead slightly creased like he’s trying to solve a very difficult riddle. “I know you,” he says, quieter. “I’ve seen you, around here before. Who are you?”

Wen folds her hands in her sleeves and bows once more. “My name is Wen. I have served the Royal Family for the past fifteen years. I have had the honor of being the head of Princess Azula’s personal staff for eleven of those years.” (Her achingly small staff, comparatively, but Wen ruthlessly pushes that thought down, as she’s done with all the others when she has been forced to speak to other members of the Royal Family.)

The boy lights up, and he looks every one of his thirteen years, eyes dancing with excitement in the firelight. “Maybe you can help me,” he says. Before she can respond, the words come tumbling out of his mouth in a rush, completely dropping even the pretense of formality. “I’m trying to find something of Azula’s that I can send to her. Well, send to Uncle. He’s with her, and the messenger hawks still go to him. So it has to be small enough for a hawk to carry, and I thought I’d find something in her room. It’s so tidy and I still can’t find anything.”

Wen is rather impressed he got that out in one breath. Prince Zuko looks at her, just a servant, with an intense expression, just a hair shy of pleading. Like he’s trying to convince her to help him, even though that’s her job. Or that he’s trying to convince her to _stay_.

(One child dead. One child gone. And one child left.)

Wen sinks easily to her knees next to the boy. “What have you found?” she murmurs.

He clears his throat and points to the scroll. It’s a collection of children’s spirit tales, one of the versions available at a street vendor at any festival, worn but carefully maintained. It is currently open to one of the tales, the paper sitting as if has been opened to this tale many times. (“The Lord Archer and the Celestial Fox”, to be exact. Unsurprising, really. The Princess always had a fondness for the clever trickster, and the tale of Agni requesting the fox to punish the archer for attacking the suns was quite a good one.)

“Is this insufficient?” she asks, curious.

Prince Zuko looks away, frowning slightly. “It’s...well, it looks like Azula read it more often than any of her other scrolls,” he says, gesturing at a small pile of bending scrolls or standard school texts. Hardly what one would call meaningful. “But...it’s just so...” he trails off helplessly.

_Common_ is the word he’s looking for. He’s too polite to say it to her, who is just a servant, but she knows what he means. He wants what he sends to be special, one-of-a-kind in a place where he has been able to get anything he wants so very easily. He doesn’t think this scroll has enough meaning.

Or perhaps the right kind of meaning.

“Hmm.” Wen stands, and walks over to a corner of the room, far from the windows. Prince Zuko scrambles to his feet after her, still balancing the flame in his hand.

She kneels again and studies the wood panelling on the wall, running her fingers along the inlay. Children, after all, are very much the same in certain respects. They might differ in ability or wealth, in class or interest, but there are certain things that are universal. One such thing is that all children know what to do with the things they cannot bear to lose: keep them secret and keep them safe.

The carving underneath her hand presses inward with a click. A small panel next to it slides open, revealing a small compartment. Wen smiles at Prince Zuko’s small gasp behind her as she reaches in and pulls out a set of blue hair ribbons. 

“Are these sufficient?” she asks as she places them in his empty palm.

He stares at the ribbons, gaping. “How...?” He shakes his head, then looks up at her, a slight sheen in his eyes. “ _I_ gave her these years ago. I never saw her wear...I thought she _hated_ them.” Prince Zuko clutches the ribbons to his chest. “Thank you,” he says.

Wen smiles sadly at the boy. “Of course, Your Highness. If you have need of me, you need only ask.”

——-

Zuko doesn’t know why Father called him to his study. He’s been making excellent progress in all his studies, or so his tutors say. His firebending is progressing nicely, and he knows his swordwork is as well. There really isn’t anything he can think of that Father would be displeased by, he’s pretty sure. (Surely his trips to the Royal Library aren’t _that_ suspicious. He hadn’t really used it before, but that Archivist said he was free to look. Father would just be pleased he’s taking the initiative, right? This isn’t a problem. He can explain it.)

He’s about to knock on the heavy wooden door when it opens suddenly, forcing him to jump out of the way. A large man in a Naval captain’s uniform stands in the doorway, scowling before he sees exactly who it was he nearly smashed a door into. The man composes his face into a somewhat more pleasant expression as Zuko straightens up. 

“Ah, Captain Zhao, I’m sure you’ve met my son, Crown Prince Zuko, before,” Father calls from within the study.

Captain Zhao attempts to smile pleasantly at Zuko (and fails somewhere around condescending in his estimation). “I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure,” he says, bowing. “It would be an honor to discuss matters with you, but I can see you have a meeting with the Fire Lord. I shall not keep you.” He smiles again, and Zuko gets the impression of a moose-lion. “I hope your future is...unimpeded, Your Highness.”

He bows once more and takes off down the hallway. Zuko can’t help the small frown on his face.

What _was_ that?

He shakes his head. Father is waiting patiently, so he enters the study and closes the door behind himself. “Greetings, Father,” he says, bowing.

Father sighs, sounding tired. “Sit, Zuko.”

Zuko does, concerned. Father rarely sounds tired. He might work a lot, but he’d never let anyone hear him sound _tired_. (Except Zuko. Father _trusts_ him. He feels pride and pleasure burning in his soul, and wants to help with whatever problem there is.) “Father, what is it?”

Father folds his hands against the desk. “It’s your sister,” he says quietly. Before Zuko can even open his mouth, he continues. “I’ve been receiving some...concerning reports, mostly from the colonies, about raids being conducted by a Fire Nation cruiser. One that is both faster and more maneuverable than our cruisers. This cruiser has attacked and crippled a number of the ships defending the colonies.” He breathes deeply, as if to steady himself. “The cruiser has been identified as the one Azula is on.”

Zuko feels the world drop out from underneath him. “Is she all right?”

“I have multiple first-hand accounts that Azula...has been seen assisting in these encounters.”

“That’s...that can’t be right,” Zuko says, pushing the words out past a suddenly-dry tongue. “That can’t...”

“Prince Zuko,” Father says quietly, “I have _multiple_ first-hand accounts.”

“Azula wouldn’t do that!” he cries. “She _wouldn’t_. That’s...that’s _treason_!”

“I know.”

Zuko puts his head in his hands. Azula, what are you doing? He’s been trying so hard, reading up on legal codes and histories written in language so archaic his eyes cross. He’s been on a wild tear through the Library, trying to find _anything_ that could bring her home. 

And now there’s this? This...this treason?

This isn’t like her. She wouldn’t do this. She fought an _Agni Kai_ for him. There isn’t a disloyal bone in her body. 

“She wouldn’t do this,” he says again, with as much conviction as possible. He looks up and sees interest in Father’s eyes. (Of course Father wouldn’t believe it either) “There has to be another explanation.”

Father shuffles through some of the reports on his desk. “That is the conclusion to be drawn from some of the reports. However,” he pauses, then sighs. “I also received a report taken from testimony of two crewmembers who were able to leave the ship before it defected. As you know, I sent General Iroh along with Azula. It...seemed for the best.”

Zuko still feels like he’s in a free-fall. “Are...are you saying that Uncle...?” He can’t finish the question. He doesn’t even know what the question is.

Father presses his lips together and looks off to the side, to a brightly-burning fire in a brazier. “My brother fell from grace, but only a fool would discount him. He was the best choice to go with her, despite how little they had interacted in the past.” The fire crackles, snaps, but stays contained. “The crewmembers gave disturbing accounts of how he ignored her for weeks, even if she were injured, almost as if she didn’t exist.”

“Injured?” Zuko interrupts, then immediately looks down at his hands, ashamed of his outburst. 

Father levels a stern look, the rebuke clear. But he’s apparently letting the breach in etiquette go, considering everything. Zuko’s not going to complain about not feeling a slight stinging spark as a reprimand in any case.

He settles himself back into the perfect attentive posture, trying not to vibrate out of his skin as Father continues. “Then, one day, it was a complete reversal. They said he was shadowing her every move, watching all the time. And when the captain announced they were going rogue, both crewmembers confirmed that he put Azula in front of the entire ship and boxed her in by standing behind her.”

Zuko wonders if getting stabbed in the heart would hurt less. Uncle wouldn’t...but why would two sailors say that? What do they have to gain? Uncle’s military career is over already. Abandoning a defecting ship is enough to ensure that these sailors are rewarded for loyalty. The only reason to bring it up...is if that’s what happened.

But why? Uncle’s happiest drinking tea and playing Pai Sho like an old man. Why would he _do_ any of this? And...okay, Zuko can admit he knows that Azula and Uncle didn’t exactly have the greatest relationship before. He mentally winces. Uncle _did_ kind of ignore her, and probably spent more time with him.

Oh. And if that continued on the ship, then suddenly changed...Uncle is the only thing from home Azula even has. That’s why he’s been driving himself crazy trying to find something, anything, to send her.

...through Uncle.

The hair ribbons in his pocket suddenly feel like they’re made of lead. Oh spirits.

If he knew he was at risk for losing Uncle, he’d do _anything_ to stop that from happening. And Azula already knows what that’s like.

But why?

Zuko grits his teeth. It’s as Father said. Their enemies in court thought they were weak. They’d already tried to assassinate his little sister (Agni, why her? Why is it all falling on her? He wants to grab the spirits and _shake_ them), and he isn’t foolish enough to believe they would stop because she’s not here. 

He looks up at Father, who is quietly looking at him, letting him gather his thoughts. Zuko mentally cringes again at how scattered they are, but this is a lot to deal with at once and he’s trying to figure out how any of it makes any sense _at all_.

Zuko looks at Father, dressed in the official Fire Lord robes, sitting behind the desk Grandfather, and Great-grandfather, and so many more Fire Lords sat behind. The one he himself will one day sit behind. And then it hits him that this is not how it was _supposed_ to be. It should be _Uncle_ behind that desk, in those robes, not Father.

“Uncle was supposed to be Fire Lord, wasn’t he.” Zuko says slowly. It’s not a question.

Father clenches his jaw for a moment. “Yes. My brother is Fire Lord Azulon’s first-born.”

“And when Grandfather died, he couldn’t be found. So you _had_ to take it. The Fire Sages decreed that the Mandate of Agni had passed and settled on you.”

“What are you thinking, Zuko?”

He knows this is going to hurt. The words burn in his throat, but the only other explanation puts a knife in his little sister’s throat. And he’s not going to let that happen. (He hasn’t failed in protecting her yet. _Yet_.)

“Could Uncle...be trying for the throne?”

Father lets out a long breath and leans back. “That’s...possible, yes. His fall from grace left him without many allies in the military or the court, but...that is a possible explanation for the lack of eye-witness engagements of the rogue cruiser with Earth Kingdom ships.”

Collaboration with a foreign power? What’s next, proof of an international conspiracy? Zuko feels his heart breaking. He _trusted_ Uncle. “Father, if he’s _using_ Azula...it’s not her fault.”

He feels his heart break further when Father closes his eyes and breathes out heavily. “She’s been seen attacking the Navy.”

“She’s _eleven_! He’s the Dragon of the West! He’s _Uncle_!”

“Zuko, I can’t do nothing. It’s all I could do to make sure you and I discussed it first. It will be all over the Court by the end of the day.”

And after that, there will be no stopping it. They’ll call his little sister a traitor, and honor demands restitution. It’s not something that can be ignored. He tastes bile on his tongue. There needs to be something, _anything_ else. 

( _She needs her big brother to look out for her and protect her. Can you do that for me, Zuko?_ )

Zuko throws himself on his knees and lowers his forehead to the floor in front of Father. It’s the most debasing thing he could possibly do, and in any other circumstance he’d be horrified at his own actions. But this? The punishment for treason is death. For Azula’s life, Zuko will offer Father the lowest dogeza he can. “Please, Father. I am your loyal son, and I beg you for my sister’s life. Please.”

There’s a long silence. Zuko barely even lets himself breathe. He doesn’t let himself move.

“Get up, Prince Zuko.” Father’s voice is firm with command that he can’t disobey. He rises into seiza, still rigid and formal as possible. Father looks...he can’t tell, and Zuko’s heart rate skyrockets. He doesn’t know.

Then the moment is gone, and Father is back to looking a little worn, like he has all meeting. “Exile,” he says heavily. “I can extend the banishment to exile. It’ll be more difficult to revoke in the future, but if it turns out that Azula is loyal and circumstances dictate, it _can_ be.” Father looks down at the papers on his desk. “I can also order that if she is caught in Fire Nation territory that she be taken _alive_. Captured and brought back to the Caldera, but she is not to be killed.”

Zuko closes his eyes. He’ll have a lot more work to do. 

He stares his father directly in the eye. “I’ll take it.”

Father smiles.

——

Most people, they don’t really _get_ rock. It’s just...there. They don’t realize how it’s everywhere, and not just the ground under their feet (that’s the _obvious_ ). Walls? Rock. Buildings? Lots of rock. Statues? Hell of a lot of rock. Salt is even a rock! (That had been a fun one) Fact is, rock is all over the place and most people just don’t notice.

Which really says a lot, doesn’t it? Because she’s convinced that once people think something is common or ordinary enough, they stop paying attention to it. So the best way to avoid getting noticed when you’re somewhere you kinda maybe technically aren’t supposed to be?

Act like you’re totally supposed to be.

She kicks a pebble. It makes a satisfying clatter as it ricochets off the wall, then the ground, then skips a bit. Some people turn in that direction. Not expecting a rock there, now, are they?

She saunters past them before they even turn around and slips inside the entryway.

Rocks are great.

Okay, so she really wouldn’t be here in the first place if she didn’t, on some level, appreciate the finer points of rocks. And dirt. And all that, because this is the Earth Rumble and that’s the _entire point_. The earthbending! The fighting! The fighting with earthbending! It’s in the name, for the love of all the little hive-worms.

Which is why she really does not understand why the two geniuses in front of her won’t stop blabbing about...what _are_ they talking about?

“I’m serious,” Large and Grumbly, well, grumbles. “I’ve got a cousin right up the coast. Saw ‘er himself, plain as anything. Red scarf, just as they say.”

Short and Fidgety scoffs. “Uh-huh. Your cousin saw The Exile. Of course he’d say the description matched, ya rockhead. Probably jus’ some ashbringer tryin’ to spook ‘im.”

“Sure. You know any other ashbringers kickin’ other ashbringers outta colonies for startin’ shit?” Large and Grumbly sounds very skeptical.

The Exile? Firebenders fighting firebenders?

Short and Fidgety is quiet for a bit. “How’s he sure it’s ‘er?” He’s a lot less of a jerk about it this time.

“The height,” Large and Grumbly says bluntly. “And the blue fire.”

Short and Fidgety lets out a long whistle. “That’s still messed up, ya know? Kid’s, what, ten? Twelve? And ‘er papa ash-damned exiled ‘er?”

“Dunno why you’re actin’ surprised the Fire Lord is a shit parent.” Large and Grumbly shifts. “Sent the Navy after ‘er too, if ya believe the tales.”

So this “Exile” is a kid. Who happens to be the kid of the actual Fire Lord. And pissed off her dad enough to get kicked out of the country and have the Navy chasing her. (Which, honestly? Goals to aspire to.) And is hanging around the Earth Kingdom just to kick the terrible parts of the Fire Nation (which are most of them) in the head?

Toph Beifong grins widely. Things are about to get a lot more _interesting_.


	6. let the fire spread (try and move like you're meant to)

Consider the candle.

A simple object, really. A wick, embedded in wax or tallow and nothing more. It does nothing more. Inert. Lifeless. Useless.

However, when applied to a flame, a candle becomes so much more. It can be a way to light the path forward, a way of tracking time. Both future and past, all in a single, simple tool. 

The truth of it is that the flame holds the power, and the candle is merely fuel. But in feeding the flame, it becomes greater than itself. And when that candle is burned up, the flame can move to another. The flame moves on. The candle serves its purpose.

People are very much the same. Their value is not intrinsic, but in what can be gained from them with the application of the correct outside influences. Like a candle, like wax, they are malleable, easy to mold into forms best suited for their purpose. In the end, they burn all the same.

Fire Lord Ozai opens his eyes and considers the candle flickering before him, flame pulsing steadily with his breathing.

It’s a plain candle, sitting in a simple holder. Hardly the opulence one would expect to find in the Fire Lord’s meditation chambers. If one were an idiot. Really, the amount of asinine expectations in his Court is quite ridiculous. They’re quite fortunate he is able to twist them with his words or arrange for placements elsewhere. Otherwise, he’d be forced to burn some of them alive for their rank stupidity.

No. He breathes in and out, focusing on just the flame. He cannot lose his temper. Not again.

Ozai knows he has a terrible one. Not only is it quick to burn, but it burns hot and it burns long. Ursa, though wrong about many things, was right to call him a dragon.The dragons are dead so he must be what remains in their image. He nurses his temper like one, stoking it deep in his belly, relying on it as a source of power, as strength. As his fire.

Unfortunately, this may be responsible for his current predicament.

It would have all worked perfectly if the damned child had lost like she was _supposed_ to.

General Koeda comes from an old family. His younger brother is more competent, with more experience in military matters and would overall be more useful, but the elder has precedence in Court. He would need some kind of scandal to remove, something to stain the elder but leave the family honor intact.

So when his youngest came to her brother’s defense like she was supposed to, Ozai saw an opportunity. Merely accepting an Agni Kai with a child under the age of thirteen was frowned upon, seen as the act of a coward. Even if he won, Ozai would be able to exert pressure in the correct places to force General Koeda to resign in disgrace.

Even a narrow loss would have been acceptable, able to be waved away as a bad day and still calling into question his ability to lead.

Instead, the Agni-damned child had _trounced_ an active General of the Fire Nation. In front of the full Fire Nation Court. 

Ozai hadn’t thought he’d misjudged her abilities so poorly. If he had known, he would never have suggested the Agni Kai. Because it revealed a weakness in his council, it insulted Koeda’s family, and it made a critical part of the military a laughingstock. 

But no, that was not the worst. Even that he could have spun. It would have taken more work, would have required concessions and negotiations. No, all that would have been salvageable, had the damned child done as she had been _taught_. As she had been _trained_.

Where had the child learned of _mercy_?

Who had been undermining his efforts in training her? Who had enough influence to suggest anything but overwhelming force in neutralizing threats? And if no one was, because there was no one, because Ozai controlled the child’s world, then the other conclusion to be drawn was that letting Koeda live was _calculated_. That it was a move in some plan he did not know of, one engineered by the child herself, because the child was having _ideas_.

It...was a concerning development. Was she hiding her abilities? Downplaying them in training? Making herself seem weaker than she was? Was she trying to usurp Zuko’s place as his heir, as he had done to his own brother? The attempt would be useless, of course, as Zuko was his perfect heir, the warrior-philosopher necessary to be the guiding hand for the Fire Nation’s next golden age. But that she would try...

His thoughts had chased themselves around uselessly that day, concocting and discarding scenario after scenario to explain the discrepancy. And as the shadows grew longer and longer, his temper built hotter and hotter. Rage at the idea of her getting ideas above herself, anger at all the time spent carefully molding that still had not taken because of a child’s stubbornness, and absolute _fury_ that his plans were now in disarray and it would take weeks of careful diplomacy to work out.

Ozai had not hesitated before in administering well-deserved discipline, and he did not do so then.

It was only when the child had stopped screaming and lay limp and unconscious that he realized he now had a different problem. Seeing the ruin of her face, Ozai knew at once that this could not get out. Zuko, especially, could never find out what had transpired in this room.

The solution, he thought, was rather elegant. There had been a ship in drydock, the _Enforcing the Way in Agni’s Name_ , that was set to depart the next day. Ozai only remembered it because it had a ridiculous reputation for being cursed and so he had to authorize the transfer of his Navy’s most-troublesome units over. He would send the child along on the boat, spinning some excuse about banishment to appease Koeda. 

He would also send along his brother. Ozai knew Iroh couldn’t stand the child and was much more interested in spending time with Zuko, Ozai’s heir. The last thing Ozai needed was his brother poisoning his son against him. Then, if he was lucky, Iroh would do something convenient like inspire a failed mutiny and die. If not, in a few months, Ozai would arrange for there to be a tragic assassination on the old Fire Prince. Ozai would revoke the banishment for the traumatised child, who had been horrifically burned in the attack that cost the General-Prince his life. The child would then return home, with a reinforced sense of humility and gratitude, and resume her place.

To say he had been displeased when he had heard reports of the ship going rogue would be an understatement. Then came the first-hand accounts, then accounts from sailors from the ship who remained loyal. Then Captain Zhao came to see him, eyes feverish, one of the mad dogs in his Navy he knew he kept barely leashed.

The child had become a problem that needed to be dealt with. He feels little guilt in having sent Zhao after her. Zhao will have received the order to capture instead of kill, but it is not Ozai’s fault if Zhao decides to disobey.

Zuko begged for her life, and Ozai can grant her judgement upon being brought back in chains. He said nothing about what that judgement would be. He would have to see if there was anything left worth salvaging.

There is no purpose in keeping a candle that has been used up.

——

“Well, you look broodier than usual.”

“Hi, Ty Lee,” Zuko says without looking up, instead throwing another piece of bread to the turtleducks.

She huffs and sits down next to him. “Seriously, we haven’t seen you in weeks!’

He sighs and hangs his head. She’s right, he’s being a jerk. “Sorry,” he mumbles, then looks up. “Wait, where _is_ Mai?”

“Not here yet?” Ty Lee steals the bread from him and takes over feeding the turtleducks. “Which is probably good, because she’s been grumpy and wouldn’t have been happy with the broody act.”

Zuko gives her a strange look. “So...like normal?”

“No, I mean grumpy.”

Oooh boy.

The warning is appreciated not a second later when Mai comes storming into the garden. (He can tell, she’s walking about five steps faster than normal.) She’s also actually frowning.

Zuko scrambles to his feet and considers diving into the pond as an escape route. One of the turtleducks quacks at him and flees, the coward. While he’s mourning the fickle loyalty of turtleducks, Mai reaches them and slaps a small scroll to his chest.

“Oof.”

“Stop being such a baby,” Mai snaps, like she doesn’t even care that he’s the Crown Prince. Which, honestly, she probably doesn’t. “You don’t get to complain when you make it impossible to actually see you.”

“I’ve been _busy_ ,” he says, fumbling for the scroll. It looks like it came from the Navy, but in that case, why would _Mai_ have it? The seals are all correct for military communication, but...messy. As if the person sending the message didn’t have much time. “What is this?”

“How should I know?” Mai says, folding her arms across her chest. “It’s still sealed. But it came a few weeks ago, asking me to pass it on to you. And the hawk that was carrying it had the tags for a _certain_ ship.”

Zuko blinks, looks down at the scroll, then tears it open.

_I am trying._

The handwriting is shaky, sloppy, the Court Huǒzi characters slightly ill-formed like there wasn’t enough time to draft a proper letter. But Zuko knows who this is from. Spirits, how...Azula must have managed to slip away just long enough to steal a messenger hawk and send it to Mai.

His knees buckle and he’s dimly aware of Ty Lee’s yelp and attempts to keep him from braining himself against a rock. But all of that is secondary against the three little words on the parchment in his hand. Because he was right. His sister _isn’t_ a traitor, she’s still loyal. He hasn’t failed her. He hasn’t failed Mom. (He doesn’t have to watch her die.)

“You said...it came a few weeks ago?” His voice sounds distant to his own ears. 

He hears Mai’s sigh, then feels her sit down on the grass next to him. “Dad was surprised by a hawk with military crests delivering a message. He was even more surprised when it wasn’t for him.”

Zuko still can’t tear his eyes away from the scroll. He can’t remember what Azula’s handwriting looks like normally, if the spikiness of some of the characters is purely speed or style. That bothers him, because this is probably the last thing she’s going to be able to send to him, and it’s a hastily-scrawled message of desperation.

“It’s from Azula, isn’t it?” Ty Lee asks quietly.

He nods. “She must have gotten the last hawk before the,” he pauses, swallows hard against the knot in his throat because it’s still so hard to think about, much less say, “declaration of exile became public.”

“And your mail is screened.” Mai says, then sighs again when Zuko looks up sharply. “She didn’t know if it would get to you if she sent the hawk to the Palace. You sister trusted that at least I would get it into your hands.”

Ty Lee laughs. “And you said you didn’t think Azula thought we were friends, Mai.”

Zuko is...he’s just going to file that away for later. (Because _of course_ Azula knows Mai and Ty Lee are her friends? How can she _not_ know her own best friends? Sure, he introduced them and they were his friends too, but she wouldn’t spend all that time with them if they weren’t friends. )

“What did you say?” he asks, still looking at Mai.

“Zuko,” she replies flatly, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but your sister isn’t exactly the most — “

He waves his hands and interrupts. “Not that. The thing about my mail! Why would you think my mail is _screened_?”

She throws an incredulous look at him. “What makes you think it _isn’t_? You’re the _Crown Prince_ , of course your mail is getting screened.”

“I think I’d know if someone read my mail.”

“I think what Mai means is that your mail is getting screened so only the _important_ stuff gets to you,” Ty Lee jumps in, smiling a tad too brightly.

“Sure, let’s go with that,” Mai mutters.

But Zuko doesn’t think that’s really what she meant. But even if she did, that’s still...oh, he did know about what Ty Lee said. He knows there are all sorts of courtiers who tried to go around Father by writing to _him_ , like he was an idiot child who could be bribed by the promise of a sweet. Or all the letters from citizens who decided to write to their Prince. (He knew there was some kind of rote response sent out by the scribes. Every few months, he has to spend a day applying his seal to a pile of pre-written scrolls and trying not to get the red ink over everything.)

Stuff like that...that stuff makes sense. He’s never wondered about it before. But if what Mai is not-saying is right, then...would someone have thought Azula’s message was “not important”? What does “not important” actually mean?

“Who decides what’s important?” he wonders.

“Adults, usually,” Mai replies. Zuko frowns.

Ty Lee notices immediately, because apparently she watches him like an eagle-hawk. “What did you realize, Zuko?”

Yeah, there’s a reason he never even bothers to try hiding things from her. And in any case, they really should know about at least some of what Father told him. About...about how Uncle (he’s still Uncle, he can’t stop thinking of him as Uncle who sent him that beautiful dagger, who drank tea and talked about theater scrolls with him, he’s still Uncle) might be forcing Azula to do things she doesn’t want to do. Or doesn’t know better not to do because he’s...

“Father told me that Uncle...there’s a chance he wants the Dragon Throne. And he’s using Azula to do it,” Zuko admits. He looks at Mai, who looks visibly disturbed. “And he’d be the adult deciding what’s ‘important’ for her.”

Mai and Ty Lee exchange a complicated look, one of those that he's sure is entirely in that secret language of girls that he’ll never understand, before they turn to him. “What are you going to do?” Mai asks, always practical, because Zuko isn’t dumb. Uncle successfully overthrowing Father means Bad Things for Zuko, because he’s Father’s heir. 

And even though Uncle lost his son, he never had a daughter. His sister is no one’s replacement, and if Uncle...if General-Prince Iroh wants the throne, he _will_ need an heir.

Zuko doesn’t like politics, but he’s going to need to play them. And learn to play them very well if he wants to keep his family — Azula, Father, himself — alive. And that means he’s going to need to do more than what he’s doing right now. His thoughts drift back to that scroll from Avatar Roku, the completely different kind of important information that he can’t get to his sister, not anymore. He’s staring at a bunch of puzzle pieces and he _knows_ he’s missing some, but even when he gets the full picture, it’s useless unless he can get it where it _needs_ to go.

Zuko lets out a deep breath. “I’m going to need your help, for one. Because I’m going to have to figure out how to find allies who can go where I can’t and know things I don’t.” He tries a lopsided smile that feels probably as forced as it looks. “Which I know is a lot.”

It earns a snort out of Mai and a laugh out of Ty Lee, so he will count it as a win as the tension breaks a little.

“Do you have any ideas?” Ty Lee asks. “I mean, we know each other, but there’s the stuffy ones in court and the stuffier ones, and those are the _good_ options.”

It’s a good question. And more than that, the good ones are already on his side. Well, Father’s side, which is the same thing. He’s trying to find the spots Father can’t see, because those are the weak points and need to be protected. His hand drops to his pocket, to a set of blue ribbons still in there, and he hesitates.

The older servant woman, Wen, she knew where the secrets were, knew the hidden spots that kept them safe. Are there others like her?

Zuko shrugs. Both Ty Lee and Mai’s eyes sharpen and they nod. They know the walls have ears, even here. And some things don’t need to be said out loud anyway.

Ty Lee shows off a new acrobatics trick, and Mai shows him the five new ways she learned to throw a knife. Zuko carefully rolls the small scroll back up and slides it into his shirt so it rests against his breastbone, as close to his heart as possible.

(He thinks about the letter he wrote, asking Uncle if Azula was okay, and how his heart fractured a little more every day without an answer. He has one now.)

(He takes his own heart in his hand and _cauterizes_ it.)

——

The messenger hawk is a surprise.

Azula had known that Honored Father would try to intercept all communication between the Fire Nation and their ship as soon as he heard the news. That’s why she had sent one of their hawks back to Caldera City before it was too late. She thinks Mai would choose Zuko, so given the choice, she’d give Zuko something intended for him, no matter what. She’d choose Zuko over Azula, that’s a certainty, and if that’s all Azula has to go on then she will.

(She wishes she could have written more, could have explained everything. But even though Uncle Iroh says it’s not her fault, she can’t read Court Huǒzi and she doesn’t want Zuko to know. She doesn’t...doesn’t want him to think she’s stupid and she’s only learning this now because Uncle Iroh is bored. And he’ll know anyway because it doesn’t matter how carefully she moves the brush, her characters still look messy and ugly and she should be _better_ than just three words.)

They haven’t received a hawk since. They heard about the price on all their heads in the colonies. Azula had discovered she was now officially an exile from the poster with her face on it. It didn’t show the...the drawing was older, from before she had been sent away. But it was her face.

She wonders if “Azula of the Caldera” is supposed to sting more than it does. (Zuko is a Prince. Calling her “princess” implies they are equals and this is like saying fire will freeze or air will drown. It never made sense.)

So the messenger hawk is a surprise.

The bigger surprise is that the message it carries is for her.

Azula stares at the scroll in her hands addressed to “The Exile” in precise, neat Standard Huǒzi characters. (That name...doesn’t sting either. It’s _accurate_. That’s what she _is_.) The scroll feels oddly heavy in her hands, like the paper is finer than standard but not quite so fine as what Zuko had sent his letter on. She turns it over, running her fingers over the gilded ribbon holding it closed, and the unfamiliar seal.

A flying boar?

“What is it, Niece?” Uncle Iroh asks, calmly watching her from his spot on the deck with a cup of tea. He’s playing Pai Sho with Lt. Jee.

She opens the scroll and reads.

“It’s an invitation. Someone named Lao Beifong would like a chance to speak about a...business opportunity? If we can meet at his estate in Gaoling.”

Sub-Lt. Shika chokes slightly. Azula looks up at her in alarm, but it doesn’t look like their navigator is dying. “Beifong?” she demands. “House of the Flying Boar Beifong?”

Azula looks at the seal. Well, that explains that. She shows Sub-Lt. Shika. Lt. Jee raises an eyebrow, “You’re familiar, Shika?”

“Even I know about Beifong silk, sir,” she says, tone dry. “My mother’s wedding uchikake was made from Beifong silk. She’d rather starve than sell that, even if it would have fed us for months. She wanted me to have it. For my wedding.” Her lips twist into a strange smile. “As you can see, I’m quite the disappointing child.”

“You were going to be married?” Lt. Jee sounds amused for some reason. Azula wishes people made sense.

Sub-Lt Shika laughs once, loud and sharp. “Hardly. She was being foolishly hopeful even before I went and ended up in a jail cell. No, I’m pretty sure those parental expectations for husband and family fell on my sister. She could meet them, at least.”

Azula stares at the letter again. “Silk merchants? Why do they want to meet with us?”

“It might be worth finding out,” Lt. Jee says. “We do have the problem of funds.”

She scowls behind the scarf. That has been an annoying problem. They hadn’t really had a surplus of resources before Yiyang, but now, they obviously weren’t receiving any kind of supplies from the Fire Nation. They were all right for the moment, getting supplies as gifts from the colonies they’d helped, but that wasn’t going to work forever. If only because eventually, even the most hard-headed commander learned better. Or was replaced.

“Gaoling is Earth Kingdom, Niece,” Uncle Iroh warns quietly.

This isn’t just fighting to protect the colonists. This would be actively working with someone considered an enemy. Right?

Except Sub-Lt. Shika said Beifong silk was still imported. Which means that trade with this merchant wasn’t necessarily restricted? So were they really an enemy? They want to meet. That...could be forming an alliance?

It is, at least, enough of a reason to not dismiss it out of hand.

“We should go hear them out,” she says.

She’s pretty sure Zuko wouldn’t want her to starve in any case. Fairly sure. 

—-

The estate makes a toppled stone-ant nest look calm right now. Servants are rushing back and forth trying to get rid of whatever invisible dust her mother thinks is lurking around, or bringing papers for her father to sign, or just generally tripping over themselves. Not that Toph is supposed to know any of this, because she’s supposed to be neatly hidden away in her rooms because no one is around to watch to make sure she doesn’t trip over a pebble and break her own damn neck.

Key phrase in there being ‘supposed to’.

Yeah, how about no to that.

Even if she wasn’t the greatest Earthbender in the world (in the making, she hasn’t had a chance to test herself, but she’s been to Earth Rumble and she knows the badgermoles taught her enough to wipe the floor with any of them with both hands tied behind her back), she’s lived in the walls of the estate her _entire life_. She knows her way around, thanks.

Well, Toph supposes she shouldn’t complain too much. After all, if they weren’t all acting like idiots, she might actually feel something almost possibly like _guilt_ in completely ignoring the order to stay in her room and instead heading to the outermost wall of the estate. 

Thing is, if there’s one thing she really likes about the estate, it’s the construction. It’s all rammed-earth architecture, great stone walls driven into the earth like walls _should_ be, deep and sturdy and solid. Old, too, so crazy old. Bàba is always going on and on about how “there have always been Beifongs” and “there must always be Beifongs” and whatever. Okay Bàba, heard you the first time, don’t have to repeat it another five thousand. But her old man has a point somewhere in there. The walls to the estate are old as _dirt_. Literally.

Which means that when she’s next to that outer wall and concentrates with her palm on the old, weather-worn stone, it means she can _see_.

Not see like how everyone else sees, the kind of seeing that doesn’t let them notice half the things she does. No, this is how the earth sees, how it knows the step of every creature that treads upon it, knows the secrets whispered in the dark that echo in the caves and mountains and graves. The earth sees in the echoes and nothing living or dead can hide forever. The earth keeps the secrets, but Toph knows people who look hard enough can find them.

That’s what the badgermoles taught her. Who needs sight anyways?

Because a person who didn’t know how to see like this? Well, she’d be a helpless little blind girl like her parents thought, not knowing a damn thing about what was going on outside her own room, nevermind the walls of the estate.

Toph scoffs. She’ll get out of here one day. Get out and not look back.

Wait. What’s going on?

She frowns and concentrates, focusing on further out, beyond the walls of the estate. There’s heavy traffic in Gaoling, people rushing to-and-fro like always, but there’s something...she can’t reach that far, but something’s happening at the edge of the city. She listens to the sound of people closer, passing near the estate.

_“Fire Nation ship...” “ — wrong color flag...” “ ... do you think they’re here?” “ — not a red flame, that’s a blue flag.” “The Exile — “ “ — tales are true?” “...must be exaggerated— “ “sunk a fleet of ships...”_

_“The Exile is here, in Gaoling!”_

Toph stumbles back, head spinning. Reminder to self: that was a terrible idea, don’t do that. She’d say mostly because no one says anything interesting, but oh no, not in this case. The Exile is here, in Gaoling, of all the places in the world. Also a place that’s pretty solidly Earth Kingdom to the bones of the mountains, thank you very much. Toph thought she kept to the contested territories, what the Fire Nation called the colonies.

Then again, she is The Exile. From the sound of it, it didn’t exactly seem like the Earth Kingdom was planning on driving her away. Which is good, otherwise Toph might just be forced to die of embarrassment over the sheer foolishness of being a dick to the person currently causing your enemy their biggest headache. 

So The Exile is in Gaoling. And her parents were freaking out over every little detail in the estate as if they were about to receive royalty. Which The Exile, technically-speaking, _is_.

Toph is fully capable of taking two and two, adding them together, and getting four. Merchant’s daughter over here, even if her parents forget that fact. Speaking of, there’s no way her parents are even thinking of letting their “fragile flower of a daughter” even _meet_ someone like the exiled princess of the barbaric Fire Nation. (Toph would be surprised they’re going to let them exist in the same building, if not for the fact her parents literally have nowhere else to stash their apparent inconvenience of a child.)

She snorts. Like that’s gonna happen.

Toph hops to her feet, then pauses. Considers her outfit, which she has been assured looks very pretty and delicate and is made of some of the finest silk. Clearly not something she can possibly meet exiled royalty while wearing.

After all, she’s been told that first impressions are everything.

—-

Gaoling is...different. It is a place that has nothing of the Fire Nation. The buildings are different. The roads are different. The smells are different. From the moment she put her foot down on solid ground, Azula knew this place was nothing like home and had never been. 

She should be used to it, having visited so many of the colonies, but it still feels weird every time. This time, they weren’t even stopping at a proper dock; they had dropped anchor on the shore of a river. Two of the crew would accompany her the rest of the way to the city on-foot. This was the Earth Kingdom, and no matter how much her status has changed, they’re still _Fire Nation_. ( _She_ is Fire Nation. Down into her bones, she is Fire Nation, nothing more than fire given shape to be used and used until there’s only ash. She knows this.) Too many of them will be viewed with suspicion, as a threat. So only three will go.

Uncle Iroh seemed displeased that he was staying onboard. Azula doesn’t want to upset him, and he would be well-suited for this task (better than she is), but he is still the Dragon of the West, and his presence would not be welcome in this place. His face had looked pinched, eyes tight around the edges and mouth turned down when he watched them depart from the ship. She hopes she hasn’t slighted him in an unforgivable manner.

He did ask her to try to procure tea if she could, if she has a favorite. (People have favorite tea?) Were they running low? She hasn’t heard anyone else mention it, and if they are, she isn’t quite sure how she’s supposed to carry enough tea to supply the ship back by herself.

The city sits nestled between mountains and trees, rolling hills and slow-winding streams. It’s built into the earth in a way that is impossible to ignore, all stone and dirt and everywhere is so much _green_.

She’s not sure she likes it. She recognizes the architecture from the descriptions she’s read, can note the fortifications in the corner of that building, the weaknesses shored up in the other, the loose tiles on the roofs and how they can be used. She can put together five traditional strategies on how to defend their location taken from the classic texts, but none of that explains why her stomach feels empty when she sees storefronts made of stone instead of wood and doesn’t smell spice from the street vendors’ fires.

“You okay, kid?” Sifu Rùfen steps up behind her, not touching but a warm and solid presence behind her that’s anchoring. Azula nods, and hears Sifu Rùfen’s soft chuckle in response. (She’s Sifu now, because that’s what she is and Corporal is no longer correct, not when they are certainly not Fire Nation _Army_. And she will not give disrespect by using an _incorrect_ title.)

“I cannot believe I got convinced to do this,” Doctor Jian mutters as he steps closer to them. He adjusts his glasses, then scowls as Sifu Rùfen lightly taps his arm.

“It’s a _tell_ ,” she says, sounding exasperated. “One would think you’d never done any diplomatic job in your life.”

“That’s because I _haven’t_.” 

“Well, now I know why I’m here.” Sifu Rùfen sighs. “This will be fun. Let’s just go?”

The people stare at her when they walk past. Azula feels the weight of them on her back, trying to pick her apart, find a weakness, a flaw, somewhere they can drive a blade. Her scarf is secure around her face, as usual.. (No one will see Honored Father’s brand.) The húdiédāo are a secure weight on either side of her hips, able to be drawn in half a moment. Nothing is out of place. Nothing is currently threatening.

She catches a flash of red out of the corner of her eye. Pausing to assess, she comes up to one of the posters with her face on it. It’s the same one as all the others, except that someone has written something along the top of the poster and slashed red ink across the bottom half of the drawing’s face, almost like a _scarf_.

**BURY THEM IN ASH IN THE GRAVE THEY DUG US.**

“Well, that’s a new form of vandalism: renegade copyediting,” Doctor Jian says. “Clearly a higher form of vandalism.”

Azula turns, confused. “What?”

Doctor Jian’s face goes a little red. “...nevermind. It’s not important, I was making a terrible joke.”

“Great, confuse the kid, good plan,” Sifu Rùfen sighs, then turns to Azula with a lop-sided smile. “It really was a bad joke. We can explain later, but we _do_ have that meeting.”

Azula blinks. “Why would you? You said it wasn’t important, so why would you offer to waste your time explaining things like that to me?” She thinks she likes it when they explain the things they think are important to her when she asks, but no one has time to waste on her. Especially on the unimportant things.

Sifu Rùfen and Doctor Jian both pause mid-step and exchange a look with each other. It seems complicated. Doctor Jian looks tense again, with his jaw tight and hands curled, and Sifu Rùfen is loose-limbed like a komodo-panther stalking prey. She doesn’t know what shifted, doesn’t know the threat that they sensed and she didn’t. But before she can fall back into that state of Awareness (that place of nothing and everything inside her, that place where she is what she only can be), Doctor Jian shakes himself and relaxes. 

They continue through the streets until they reach the gates of a large estate, large outer stone walls towering above their heads. Someone is waiting to meet them, an older man dressed in traditional Earth Kingdom greens and a long grey beard. He bows deeply to them.

“Greetings, Honored Guests to the House of Beifong. I am Guan Li and steward of this estate.” The old man continues on with a traditional formal greeting that makes Azula’s head hurt. (Maybe there’s a reason she wasn’t going to need all the court pleasantries. Honored Father is right and she shouldn’t bother.) Finally, the man bows once more and gestures for them to follow another servant while he alerts the Beifongs themselves of their arrival.

“Spirits, I’d forgotten all my Earth Kingdom etiquette. Jian, are we on artisanal form or nobility form here? That didn’t sound like mercantile title structure,” Sifu Rùfen says quietly.

Doctor Jian’s forehead creases, lips twitching downwards. “That’s because Guan Li was _trying_ to trip us up, mixing up the courtesy forms like that. Isn’t this supposed to be a good-faith meeting? Making us accidentally insult his employers isn’t exactly in-line with that.”

Azula briefly wonders if this is what Court is like all the time. 

They’re led to a room overlooking a garden, with a low table and tea service already present. A man and woman, presumably Master and Mistress Beifong by the quality of their clothing, are already present.

Sifu Rùfen’s smile turns sharp. “Well, this ought to be fun, then,” she says quietly enough for only Azula and Doctor Jian to hear before she steps inside.

——

There’s a sharp knock on the cabin door. Zhao scowls down at the report he’s writing, another record of the unfathomable incompetence of the crew he’s been saddled with. Ever since that little national embarrassment had torn holes in his poor _Golden Wings Brushing Against the Clouds_ , he’s had nothing but horrific luck. He couldn’t wait for his precious ship to get repaired, not if he wanted to be the one to go avenge her, so he took the first command he could get. _Twin-tailed Scorpion Goose_ is not even in the same caliber of ship, and the blithering idiots staffing it are somehow worse.

One child. His opponent is one Agni-blighted girl-child and since the little waste of royalty is in disgrace, it’s not even treason to wish her mother had drowned her at birth and done them all a favor. Fire Lord Ozai, thank Agni, doesn’t suffer an excess of misplaced emotional attachment or any such drivel. Zhao is quite happy to assist his Fire Lord with his wayward scion problem. If only the men he was given shared more brains than a weasel-gerbil, they’d all be on their way back to the Fire Nation right now and him with a guaranteed admiralty.

The person on the other side of the door knocks again, sharper this time.

“Enter,” Zhao snaps.

Lieutenant #5 comes in and gives a sharp salute. “Sir. We just received word that the rogue cruiser formerly designated _Enforcing the Way in Agni’s Name_ was last sighted with a heading towards Gaoling.”

Zhao raises an eyebrow and looks at a map. That's not very far from their current position. In fact, based on the geography... “Gaoling, in the Earth Kingdom?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell me, Lieutenant,” Zhao pauses a moment trying to remember #5’s name then gives it up as unimportant and continues, “how are our komodo-rhinos?”

“We can send out five fully-equipped fireteams the moment we make landfall, sir,” #5 replies instantly.

“Excellent.” Zhao writes down a set of coordinates and hands it to #5. “Tell the navigator and helmsman to make for that location immediately with all possible speed.”

“Yes sir.” #5 snaps off another salute and leaves. Huh. Maybe it might be worth it to learn that one’s name.

Not important right now. No, this time, he’ll have that little _bitch_ in chains, even if he has to burn a city to the ground to do it.

—---

Toph is pretty impressed, despite herself. Her parents are _actually_ meeting with The Exile in the Eastern Jade Room, overlooking the Azure Garden. She didn’t think they actually had it in them, not only meeting with Fire Nation, but _rebel_ Fire Nation at that. She’d say she’s so proud, but let’s not kid ourselves here.

She shuffles closer, bare feet dragging in the dirt and caking wonderfully around her toes like it should. With her parents are three other heartbeats: two adults and one much younger. That must be The Exile. Toph cocks her head, considering. Heartbeat’s slow, strong. Well, all of the Fire Nationals are; Bàba hasn’t rattled them yet. Oh she knows he’s trying, he’s always going to try at meetings like this. For...whatever this is. That’s just how Bàba is.

He’s looking for an advantage, looking for any tells or ways to trip up the people at the table to give him the upper hand in whatever deal he wants to make. Dammit, Bàba, she could be there right now, helping with this. Toph can read even the little shifts from the woman when some old fort gets mentioned, or the half-a-second the man’s heartbeat spikes when he talks about plants. But no, Bàba’s working alone.

Of course, right now, beating his head against an actual rock would be more effective, for all the reaction he’s getting from The Exile. Toph whistles low. The stories say she’s a _firebender_ , right? Because she’s seen _rock_ give more tells than this girl. 

Okay, now _Mother_ is trying to charm The Exile? Oh this is so unfair that she’s not around to witness this glorious rockslide of terrible. Why must her parents be like this?

Apparently, whatever The Exile did, Mother is completely unequipped to handle it, because she’s doing That Thing where she’s brightly suggesting-actually-ordering everyone take a Nice Stroll Through The Gardens. Toph will gladly take that as her cue to shuffle into a better hiding spot, since she knows all the best ones of course, while the Fire Nationals get to witness Poppy Beifong reassert her dominance over her version of the universe. 

That universe doesn’t stand a chance.

Toph takes advantage of the opportunity and pays attention to how the visitors move. The man has a brisk stride, just kinda too fast to be calm, like he always has somewhere he needs to be, except his heartbeat is steady as the tides. He’s a walking contradiction, and she just wishes she had the chance to poke at him, see which way he’d sway when pushed. Or if he’d sway at all.

That’s totally the opposite of the woman. The woman speaks loudly, bold and sharp and taking up space in a way that’s impossible to ignore, so much that even Toph nearly misses the way she walks. Toph hasn’t felt anyone as light on their feet, she barely whispers against the ground. It’s _weird_ , how do you even _live_ without that grounding? Is that what the people who whisper “Ashbringer” or “Ashmaker” mean, that ghost-movement across the ground that’s all heat and smoke and ash in the wake? 

And then there’s The Exile, the person Toph’s really interested in. She’s like him, all steady heartbeat and quiet. And she’s like the woman, moving like a ghost, a spirit-tale through the world. No wonder people don’t know if she’s real or not; Toph’s standing on the other side of the pond from the group, hidden by the rocks, and _she’s_ wondering if the girl is real.

Suddenly, the girl’s heartrate jumps, racing like a jackalope, and Toph _freezes_. Is there a threat? She stretches out her earth sense, searching, scouring. Nothing. And no one else is reacting. So, no. Not a threat. There’s nothing here except a pond, unless The Exile has an unrelenting fear of turtleducks.

Was she spotted?

Mother leads the Fire Nationals along the garden path, back to the Tea Room to continue whatever negotiations they’re here for. Toph stays where she is, crouched with her back safely against the rocks by the pond. That was too close. Dammit, with Bàba and Mother hovering, she’s never going to get a chance to even _talk_ to the other girl.

If Bàba and Mother had their way, Toph would never even know The Exile _exists_ , probably wouldn’t even know there’s a _world_ beyond the walls of the damn estate. Just because she’s blind doesn’t mean she’s helpless. Which they’d know, if they ever bothered to actually talk to her, rather than just the idea of her. That girl, the one that lives in their heads, that girl’s the one who’ll break in a strong breeze. That girl didn’t put her roots down into the mountains and breathe the stone into her bones, didn’t grow up in the dark secret places where only the badgermoles knew. That girl is lost in the dark in the middle of a room, crying _helplessly, uselessly_ because she doesn’t know how to read the dead language of the land with her fingers and feet. Her hands are _too clean_ to know the paths left for the taking in the dust and the dirt.

Toph _hates_ that girl. Hates how they try to cram her into that girl’s shape until she wants to claw her way out of her own damn skin.

If she has to keep playing at being her, she might actually do it. What about the fine silks then, Mother?

The Exile...she’s a girl too. Not that much older than Toph. And sure, she’s Fire Nation, but even if Toph didn’t know she was the banished princess, well...like knows like. The girl knows what it’s like to live in a cage, dressed up in rich trappings. She’d know what it’s like to be forced to be someone she’s not, given a role and told to cut herself down until she can fit in that box.

The Exile might be one of the _only_ people that know. Toph can’t...she’s _not_ going to let the chance to know more, _be_ more slip through her fingers.

——

Iroh sits on the deck of the _Pariah_ and considers his next move. He has to be careful; he’s been drawing attention lately, operating openly with flashy moves after so long being quiet and cautious. His actions in the near future have consequences, far-reaching ones, and he does not know the shape of everything yet to be confident in his path. His opponent is a wily one, full of clever misdirections and cunning tactics, ready to exploit any weakness he dares reveal.

Iroh slides his silver general tile into place across the Pai Sho board, trapping the opposing tiger lord.

Jee scowls and narrows his eyes. “Oh you just had to make that move, didn’t you?” 

Iroh sips his tea as Jee mutters over the state of their game. He knows they’re both just acting, putting on a show to not discuss the fact that they’re both nervous about being here. This is the first time in months that he’s been separated from his niece, and he’s well aware that if someone were to tell him a year ago how worried he would be, well, he’d be polite about it, but he’d think they were crazy. He barely interacted with the child and thought he knew everything about her.

Iroh knows he’ll regret that for the rest of his life.

He’s reminded of it with every bewildered look at a kindness done because he wants to, with the frozen stiffness every time he offers a hug, with every subtle flinch every time she thinks she caused him some offense. (Even if, from what he can tell, that offense is breathing too loudly.) He’s reminded of his failings and chokes on bitter regret again and again with every layer he peels back and sees his failures writ large.

Staying on the _Pariah_ instead of accompanying her into Gaoling was just another indictment against him, of him sitting back and doing nothing. His head says that this is the correct choice, that the Dragon of the West, the Bane of Ba Sing Se, the Earth Kingdom Army Breaker is not welcome here. That his presence would put his niece in more danger than his absence.

It’s a bitter medicine.

Jee, he knows, is simply worried because three of his people are off in what used to be enemy territory with no backup. The man has taken to official exile and treason rather surprisingly well, for someone with such a long career in the military. Then again, there’s a reason why Jee never rose above the rank of Lieutenant; the man cares too much for the people under his command.

As for himself, well...Iroh has been out of his brother’s favor for a very long time. (If he was ever in Ozai’s favor, that is) If anything, he’s surprised it has taken so long. He regrets leaving Zuko, of course, how could he not? Being labeled a traitor has limited his ability to even contact the boy. Ozai, of course, had wasted very little time in blaming Iroh for a multitude of sins, all but accusing him of an outright coup. Irritating, but Zuko’s letters are the real loss.

(If things were different, would he condemn Azula immediately? Would he offer platitudes to his nephew that his sister was crazy and ambitious and power-hungry? It’s not even a question. Of course he would have, without hesitation, and the truth of that galls him and drives him forward to not be that man. He can only hope Zuko is a better man than he is.)

Jee is about to make a move when the game is interrupted by Shika striding over across the deck, one of the younger sailors trailing after her. Yuka, he thinks that’s her name, the waterbender (and hadn’t _that_ been a surprise?) looks somewhere between alarmed and anxious. She’d been on look-out duty, hadn’t she? Since Corporal Rùfen was accompanying Azula to Gaoling?

Shika’s expression is tight, lips drawn into a thin line. There’s worry in her amber eyes and Iroh feels a spark of dread dance along his spine. “Sir,” she says, stopping in front of Jee, “we have a problem.”

—-

The rest of the negotiations with the Beifongs are mostly lost on Azula. She could recite back exactly what was said by each party during the discussion, but her focus is elsewhere. There was a girl in the garden, she’s quite certain, despite how hidden she was. Master and Mistress Beifong had said nothing of children, and despite the dirt, the girl’s clothes were not servant-quality. And she shares similar facial features to them. 

She’s...curious.

But she’s not here to satisfy her curiosity. And although the Beifongs seem pleased with their discussions with Doctor Jian and Sifu Rùfen, they still cannot come to an agreement.

“The most profitable deals do take time, in my experience,” Master Beifong says with a faint smile. Azula frowns and tilts her head as she examines him, trying to figure out what he’s not saying. (She figured out there are a lot of Things That Are Said, Things That Are Not Said, and Things That Are Said But Not in this conversation.) (Why are people like this?)

Sifu Rùfen gives her closed-mouth knife-smile again. “Naturally. We all want to make the best decisions possible.”

Doctor Jian bows slightly. “We’re most appreciative for the opportunity and would be honored to keep the lines of communication open. Of course, should circumstances change...”

Master Beifong returns the bow, at exactly the same angle and not a degree more or less. “Of course. I do hope we will be speaking again in the near future. May Fortune smile upon you.”

After giving the appropriate farewells, the three leave the Beifong estate, the giant doors slamming shut behind them.

“Well that was a waste of time,” Sifu Rùfen says, rubbing her forehead as they head back towards the ship. “What were we supposed to be getting out of that again?”

“Supplies and funding,” Doctor Jian says drily, “for the low, low cost of renouncing the Fire Nation entirely and becoming a private security contractor in all but name.”

“Such a bargain.” Sifu Rùfen sighs. “What do you think, kid?”

Azula blinks up at her. “Why are you asking me?”

She shrugs. “Well, you were listening. You’re just as entitled as the rest of us to give your opinion, if you want. But I’m interested in your observations, if you want to share.”

Azula has a reply ready when she stops dead in her tracks. They’re outside the town, far enough to be outside the range of the casual observer. There’s an itching feeling on the back of her neck, just like when she was in the garden. Sifu Rùfen and Doctor Jian stop right alongside her, angling themselves so that all of their backs are covered. (They didn’t ask or question or...anything other than trust her reactions. She’ll examine that later, when there is no threat.)

There are a few tense seconds of silence that are finally broken by a sigh coming from off the road. “All right, you got me.”

A small figure steps out from the trees. It’s the girl from the garden. “You were at the estate,” Azula says. “Why are you here?”

The girl nods, not meeting her gaze. “I was at the estate because I live there. Name’s Toph, only child of Lao and Poppy Beifong,” she says, lips twisting in a strange smile as she bows. The Beifongs had not mentioned a child, but here she is.

Curious.

She considers the girl, Toph, evaluating. Her clothing is dirty, but well-made, as suspected. Strangely, Toph wears no shoes. Instead, her feet curl into the dirt like the roots of a tree, spread in a stance that’s as solid as the ground. There’s assurance in that stance, the kind that comes from long hours and weeks of training, of katas drilled under moonless nights. There was no such indication in either of her parents.

Even more curious.

“As for why I’m here, I wanted to talk to you, Exile.”

Azula blinks. “You...want to talk to _me_?”

Toph nods, but then goes very, very still. “Um, really weird question, but do you happen to know of something that’s really big, runs pretty fast, four legs, travels in a lot of groups, and may or may not be carrying people?”

Sifu Rùfen and Doctor Jian shift. “Komodo-rhinos?” he asks. “Why?”

“Because we’ve got a _whole lot_ of them coming towards us and they’ll be here in about, uh, two minutes?”

There’s a moment where no one moves.

“Flame take us, run for the ship!” Sifu Rùfen shouts as they all start sprinting.

—-

So. This is _not_ how she expected this conversation with The Exile to go. She’s not sure what she expected, but running for their lives from Fire Nation soldiers riding angry lizards? Not really on that list.

“Dragon spit,” the woman (whom Toph has mentally named Lightfoot) swears. “Jian! Watch the front!” She then stops running, spins on her heel and punches the air. Toph can feel the heat from that fire from where she is. Judging from the sudden screaming, Lightfoot’s target over there felt it worse.

All right! Fighting! Much better plan than running. Toph slams her foot down, finding her targets, then drags her foot through the dirt. The earth groans, then shakes itself awake, lumbering itself into a wall against the enemy benders. The earth scorches, cracks, but holds.

Of course it does. Toph grins, twists her wrist, and shifts her weight. The earth follows the movement, steady and then unstoppable. The wall launches forward, slamming into the lead soldier, breaking bone and crushing flesh. The lizard screams. The man doesn’t get a chance.

There’s a flash of heat next to her, a whisper of flames and smoke, but it’s in the wake of the earth and then it’s gone past. Oh. The Exile...Toph gets it. The Exile is using her earthworks as cover, dancing between the stones Toph calls forward and back, always advancing. 

A grunt of pain behind, and it’s just Toph and The Exile against the cacophony of clashing metal and cracking flame, screaming and silence of rider and mount. But the earth doesn’t lie, doesn’t steer her wrong, and all her blows find their targets. Her battle partner is an avalanche of steel and flame, and Toph’s never felt more alive in her life than when she’s fighting for it.

The aftermath is quiet, in comparison. Their male companion, what did Lightfoot call him, Jian? He’s breathing raggedly and the only one not on his feet. Toph checks and winces. 

“You’re not walking on that,” Lightfoot says flatly.

“Yes, thank you, which one of us is the doctor again?” Jian’s pretty good for a guy whose leg is definitely not supposed to bend that way.

Lightfoot just sounds exasperated; (Toph has _a lot_ of experience with that tone of voice). “Dammit. Guess we’re doing it this way. Hey, Rock-kid.”

Toph twitches a bit. “Rock-kid?”

“She’s already ‘kid’ and you’re an Earthbender. Work with me here. Anyway, you somehow heard them coming before, think you can do it again?”

It’s only as easy as _breathing_ , so sure. “Yeah.”

“Great.” Lightfoot shuffles around.

“Oof,” mutters Jian, suddenly not on the ground. “Must you carry me like a sack of cabbages?”

Toph feels that heat again, cooler this time, as The Exile steps up next to her. “Are they always like this?” she mutters as they start jogging again, leaving the bodies behind.

“Yes.” The Exile’s voice is slightly raspy. Toph doesn’t think it’s because of exertion.

There really isn’t time to examine any of it too closely. Instead, they’re running again, this time with the two adults in front. Lightfoot doesn’t sound too happy about this, but it’s not like they have a lot of choices. Not when more soldiers are on their way, driving their mounts after them. 

Toph can sense where the earth drops off in front of them. That’s...probably where the boat is. They came on a boat, right? She hopes it’s the damn boat, because the soldiers are gaining on them.

And then she feels the ones hiding on the sides of the path start moving. “They’re on the sides!”

Something _yanks_ Toph backwards by the collar of her shirt. 

A rush of heat misses her face by a hair. She would have been flash-fried if The Exile had been any slower, although “Next time, can we not with the strangulation?”

But there’s a wall of fire between the two of them and the river. The two adults are on the other side, and then they can’t really do anything because Toph and The Exile have soldiers closing in on three sides and a wall of literal fire on the fourth.

“We never got to officially meet, did we, Princess Azula?” Bàba is a merchant. Toph has grown up hearing all sorts of voices so slick you could fry dumplings. But this guy. This guy is on a whole ‘nother level. He steps forward, footfalls heavy, like he’s demanding the world take notice of him, like he’s demanding the earth support him. He takes up space that he doesn’t need to, tries to root himself into something solid but doesn’t want to spend the time to get there. (Bàba would say he lacks discipline, wants the money and the prestige of the contract without doing the work, that the work was the point.) 

Oh, he’s still talking. “I’m sorry, was that a sore point?” He doesn’t sound very sorry at all. “Forgive me for using the incorrect title, Exile.”

The Exile shifts slightly. “Who are you again?’ she asks, completely deadpan.

Smarmy over here did not appreciate that. (Toph finds it hilarious and is trying to not fall over laughing because that would probably make escaping even harder) Smarmy’s heart is jumping all over the place, “I will bring you back to the Fire Lord in chains, Azula of the Caldera!” he roars and yup, here comes the fire.

Toph bends the earth wall up to block it easily. The Exile’s back is warm against her own. “Can you bend a pillar below us, high as you can?” she whispers into Toph’s ear.

They’re by the shore; the ground is more porous, worn away. “Not gonna last long enough.”

“Can you do it?”

Toph isn’t one to back down from a _challenge_ , and she isn’t planning on starting that _now_. The earth surges under their feet, launching them up into the air. She feels the pillar start to crumble even as it grows, and then there’s an arm around her waist and then she knows _nothing else_.

Because they’re airborne. “What are you doing?!”

“Trying not to die,” The Exile grits out. Toph can feel an immense amount of heat near her feet, as if the girl is firebending using her own feet. They’re flying through the air and Toph doesn’t know where they’re going or where they’re supposed to land and if she dies like this she’s _haunting_ The Exile and...

“Hold on,” the girl orders and Toph doesn’t have a chance to ask anything because now they’re falling. They hit something hard (The Exile breaking Toph’s fall which was thoughtful, she guesses), then tumble before coming to a stop.

There’s the sound of feet pounding on a wooden floor coming closer. A floor that is most definitely _moving_. Oh, boat.

“Azula!” The voice sounds like an old man, desperate and worried.

“Ow.” The Exile mumbles from underneath her. 

Toph can’t help it. She starts laughing wildly, because that? “That was _awesome_. Can we do that again?”

——

Azula hadn’t been sure if bending fire with her feet was going to work, but Chief Engineer Tsui had been more than happy to tell her all about how the ship worked, along with concepts like “thrust” and “propulsion”. They’ll be happy to hear that it did work, although she thinks she might want to work on the landing part if she’s going to use this as a technique. (She doesn’t think Doctor Jian is going to be very happy if she injures her shoulder again.)

Toph is still sitting on top of her, laughing about something. At least she seems unharmed. Azula doesn’t think Master or Mistress Beifong would appreciate their child being injured because of a Fire Nation ambush.

“Azula!” Uncle Iroh comes running over. In the background, she can hear Lt. Jee and Sub-Lt. Shika shouting orders and the ship moving underneath them. “Are you hurt?” He sounds worried. (And that’s still so strange to her.)

She shakes her head slightly. “I’m unhurt, Uncle Iroh.”

Uncle Iroh’s shoulders slump, and he smiles at her before turning to Toph. “Hello. I’m afraid we’ve caught you up in all sorts of excitement,” he says as he helps the girl stand up. 

Azula rolls to her feet just in time to hear Sifu Rùfen come marching over. “Of all the crazy, absolutely wolfbat-shit insane stunts...” 

She freezes as Sifu Rùfen’s hand drops onto her shoulder. What did she do— she got them away, she didn’t ruin the negotiations, everyone’s alive, right? It’s fine, everything is fine, what is — 

“Nearly gave me a spirits-damned _heart attack_ , you crazy, wonderful kid,” Sifu Rùfen mumbles into her hair as she holds Azula within her arms, having dropped to her knees to do so. 

Oh.

“I’m...not hurt? Really,” she says quietly. This is...she really has no idea what she’s supposed to be doing. It’s _unsettling_ , making her feel too warm, her eyes itchy, and something in her chest feel tight-not-tight.

“I’m not mad. I was _scared_ , but I’m not mad. Not at you,” Sifu Rùfen says quietly. She leans back, holding her at arms-length, and her lips twitch into a familiar smile. (A part of Azula relaxes. This is _normal_. Everything _is_ normal.) “I’ve got Jian to be mad at anyway,” she says, much louder. “He’s the one who knows better _and_ broke his damn leg.”

“I can _hear you_ , Rùfen,” Doctor Jian grumbles from where he’s sitting on the deck. One of the crew is starting to tend to his leg.

Uncle Iroh clears his throat. Azula turns to look at him. “We should probably send notice to Miss Beifong’s parents that she is safe and that we did not intend to accidentally kidnap her,” he says. “Would you mind helping her to my quarters so we can write something, niece?”

Why would Toph need her help? The ship wasn’t that big. Azula is about to ask for clarification when she gets a good look at the girl for the first time.

Toph Beifong is _blind_.

Azula frowns even as she offers an arm to the girl. Toph moved without a problem earlier. She didn’t need any sort of help. Toph had helped fight off _five_ Fire Nation komodo-rhino fireteams without a scratch. Why would she need help?

Toph sighs. “All right, you can say it.”

“What?”

“What you’re thinking,” Toph says, a hard edge in her voice. “How can a helpless blind girl fight like that?” The words have a mocking edge to them.

Azula shakes her head, then realizes Toph wouldn’t be able to see that. “No,” she says. “That’s not what I was thinking.”

Toph scoffs.

Her frown deepens. “Why would people think an earthbender that can beat five fireteams is less capable if she’s blind?”

Toph looks stunned. Azula doesn’t know why. She only asked the obvious question. Is this another one of those People Are Frustrating things, where there’s some unspoken rule that everyone else knows but she doesn’t? She hasn’t run into one of those in awhile, but they’re always like this. 

“You...you really mean that, don’t you?” Toph asks, an odd note in her voice.

Azula tilts her head. “Yes.” 

The girl is silent as Azula leads her down below the decks to Uncle Iroh’s quarters. They’re almost there when Toph breaks the silence. “I use earthbending. I don’t think it’s really sight, not like how you people do it, but it tells me where things are and things about people.”

“And we’re on a boat.” Therefore, no earthbending. That’s why she needs help now. “I understand.”

Toph tilts her head towards her. “You’re a strange one. But...you’re interesting.”

She’s not sure how to respond to that, so she doesn’t. Instead, she leads Toph into the room, where Uncle Iroh is already sitting behind his writing desk.

“So let’s try to ease some of your parents’ worry, shall we, Miss Beifong?” Uncle Iroh asks.

Toph shrugs. “Sure, I guess. They...okay, they’ve probably noticed I’m missing by now. They’re a bit...overprotective.”

Uncle Iroh raises an eyebrow. “I see.”

She nods. “Yep.” Then she grins. “Which is why _you_ should totally be the one to write the letter saying I’m safe and sound.”

“Me?”

Azula also blinks. She’d assumed she would be the one having to draft this letter, seeing as how she was the one Master Beifong originally wrote to.

“Yeah, you. Because if _she’s_ ,” Toph points in her direction, “the Fire Nation princess, then _you_ , ‘Uncle Iroh’, are the Dragon of the West, and so that’s _hilarious_.”

Uncle Iroh sighs heavily, but his lips twitch upwards as he reaches for his ink and brush. “Very well. Azula,” he calls, and she straightens at the sound of her name (there are undercurrents of...something here, and it reminds her of Zuko and that hurts in a way that’s never happened before, and it makes no sense because Toph is obviously not Zuko and for once, she doesn’t _want_ to try to untangle this to figure it out), “I spoke with Jee. Zhao is still in pursuit, but Shika thinks she’ll be able to lose him in time.”

“Is that who that was?” Azula can now understand why Lt. Jee seemed unimpressed before.

He stares at her. “You blew up his ship.”

“You blew up his ship and _didn’t recognize him_?” Toph sounds delighted for some strange reason. 

“No.” She never met him. How was she supposed to recognize the man on-sight? And she didn’t blow up his ship. Not entirely, at least.

Uncle Iroh sighs again and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Let’s write to your parents, Miss Beifong, and explain that while you are currently safe, we’re unable to return to Gaoling at the moment.”

The response from the Beifongs comes back almost immediately. Master Beifong is surprisingly understanding about the difficulties in returning to Gaoling, although Azula suspects the evidence of dead komodo-rhinos and Fire Nation soldiers on the road to the coast is very compelling. She also thinks that Master Beifong takes Uncle Iroh’s assurances that Toph is under his protection very seriously. His title seems to carry a different weight in the Earth Kingdom than it did in the Fire Nation.

He did request that they meet in Yangren in a week’s time, which would be more than enough time for things to become safer for Toph to return to her parents. Toph makes a face at this, then sighs, lying back against some crates on the deck. “I suppose I should be happy they’re being reasonable enough about a week.”

Azula frowns, then sits down next to her. There are people on the deck, and they are not hidden, but she doesn’t feel right leaving the other girl alone after delivering the news. “You did say they were overprotective.”

“Pretty sure they think I’m always about to tragically trip over a pebble and break my head.”

“You are an earthbender.” 

Toph snorts. “I don’t think they think I’m a very good one.”

Azula thinks about what she saw Toph do, how the earth shook itself awake under her feet, how it cracked and roared like a living thing, swallowing the soldiers and crushing them between stone teeth. She thinks about all of that and understands. She’s failed to meet Honored Father’s expectations many times as well, been told time and time again that she should be able to be faster, think quicker, hit harder, last longer, just be _better_ in every possible way. Perhaps what Toph did isn’t very impressive; Azula doesn’t know earthbending. But she does know that taste of not being _enough_.

“Oh.”

She hears Lt. Jee and Uncle Iroh before she sees them. “Ah, niece,” says Uncle Iroh. “I trust you have told Miss Beifong the current state of affairs?”

Azula nods. Toph folds her arms across her chest. “Yeah she told me. One week with you guys on this boat. Should be fun.”

Lt. Jee chuckles. “That’s a word for it. But right now we have some fun logistical problems.” Toph yawns, and he continues, voice wry, “Such as where you’re going to sleep.”

Toph sits up straighter. “That’s a question? I thought I’d be rooming with Exile over here,” she says, jerking her thumb at Azula. “She’s my age and she’s _fascinating_ , don’t you dare take this away from me.”

What.

She’s staring. She knows she’s staring. But just...what? Her? Fascinating? No one...Azula is not fascinating. And no one ever wants to spend time with her. (Other than Zuko, maybe.) Zuko’s friends tolerated her, maybe, because they were Zuko’s friends and _good_ friends. They’d choose him because he’s Zuko, not because he’s useful to them, and really, what else could she want? And Mai might look at her like a puzzle to be solved and Ty Lee smiles like she knows more than people think she does, but Azula doesn’t delude herself into thinking she alone is worth their attention. ( _She’s_ not useful to them. She can’t expect anything if she can’t give them that. That’s...that’s how this works, right? Zuko’s rules aren’t hers.)

Uncle Iroh coughs. “Azula? Is this...would you be all right with this?”

It doesn’t make _sense_ , but that doesn’t mean she has an actual substantial objection to it. Toph’s reasoning about them being the same age is sound, at least. And it will make things easier if she’s supposed to continue assisting Toph find her way around the ship. “It’s fine?”

Toph hops to her feet. “Excellent. I’m beat. Let’s go,” she says, before grabbing Azula’s arm and half-dragging her away. “I need you to show me where things are.”

Neither Uncle Iroh nor Lt. Jee do a very good job of hiding their chuckles.

She leads Toph below decks to her assigned quarters and then stands in the doorway, unsure. There isn’t anything on the ground that could cause a hazard, so that’s not the reason for the weird twisting in her gut as she watches Toph wander around the room, feeling things out to build her map. Azula just doesn’t know what she’s supposed to be doing right now. And why it feels so disconcerting to have a stranger in her rooms, like Toph’s opinion carries some other kind of weight. They’ve only just met. 

“So,” Toph says slowly, “this is your room. Kinda plain, isn’t it?”

Azula looks around. It’s not much different from her rooms at the Palace. “Is it?” “I dunno, I guess I was expecting something completely ridiculous. Like fancy gold elephant-rhinos or something.” She shrugs.

“Why would I want that?”

“I have no idea. But lots of people would hear ‘Fire Nation royalty’ and think stupidly rich and having all the nice things all over the place.”

Oh, that makes sense now. She’s thinking about what Honored Father and Zuko would have, what Mother used to have. (Azula has nice things, of course. Or had. Her needs were met and to a high standard so she wouldn’t shame the family. She didn’t _need_ more.) “That’s not me.”

Toph frowns and Azula wonders if she said something wrong. That...happens. Her only experience with this is talking to Mai or Ty Lee. And Toph is neither of them and Azula has no idea where to even start figuring out her rules. (Toph said she was “interesting”. How long is “interesting” going to last?)

Then Toph shrugs like nothing happened and falls over onto the bed. “I’m beat,” she says again.

Apparently, Toph will be sleeping on the bed. Probably for the best; she’s not sure if the other girl knows how to sleep on the floor and beds are for one person only. (That was a lesson as well. She remembers a nightmare, and she knows she had wanted...someone. Zuko’s room had been the closest then, she’d wanted to crawl into bed next to him, scared about something she couldn’t even remember.

Honored Father had caught her. Shook sense into her, said that only weaklings feared things that couldn’t hurt them. Asked if she was relying on _Zuko_ to protect _her_ , when it should be the other way around, what kind of pathetic disappointment that would be.

Azula remembers the hot shame burning down her throat, hotter than her fire. She never tried it again.)

Azula grabs a pillow and some blankets. Toph sits up. “Uh, what are you doing? You know this bed is big enough for like...five of us.”

She shakes her head, then remembers Toph can’t see it. “No, it’s fine. The floor is fine. With the blankets it’s fine.”

Toph doesn’t press. Azula tries to fall asleep, but she’s hyperaware right now. Toph is less dangerous now, but that doesn’t mean she’s not dangerous. Even though Azula’s not really worried? She has her back to the wall and a clear line to the door. (She’s slept in this spot before, when she first got this room and couldn’t sleep in the bed without smelling burning cloth and flesh.)

“Hey, Ex— er, Azula?” Toph whispers (for some reason). “Wait, should I be calling you that? Do you want to be called that?”

“Everyone does,” Azula points out, not sure why this matters. “And that’s my name?”

“Well, yeah, but...I just kinda realized it might be, I dunno, kinda mean?”

“It’s accurate.”

Toph sighs. “Sure, but...ugh. How grounded did you even have to _be_ to get _exiled_?”

“What’s ‘grounded’?”

She can see Toph wave her hand in the air. “You know...grounded. Like...a punishment grounded.”

Grounded as punishment? Perhaps this means something different in the Earth Kingdom, because Azula doesn’t think there are enough firebenders who have lightning mastery to teach everyone about grounding drills in the Fire Nation, much less anywhere else. She’s not sure how to ask, though. 

“What did you even do?” Toph asks.

Failed Honored Father. “I won...a fight.”

“You _won_ a fight and you got exiled? Against who?”

“A general.”

Toph is silent. Azula looks up, wondering if she needs to be concerned at the sudden change.

“The Fire Nation,” Toph finally says, very seriously, “is so messed up. No wonder you want to fix it.”

Azula feels her lips twitch slightly upwards in a small smile. 

——

It really shouldn’t be a surprise that Toph really doesn’t want this week to end. Okay, being on a boat sucks _so much_ , but other than that, it’s been pretty awesome. Maybe it’s because these people are a bunch of rebels and renegades, but the stories she’s been told about Fire Nationals being child-eating demons? Probably false.

Then again, most Fire Nation ships probably don’t have their own waterbender (what) or earthbender (what?) on board either. (Actually, Koji’s not bad. She’d found that someone had started drawing little picture-signs on the walls in coal dust for her to use as a map, and it didn’t take a ton of effort to figure out it was the other earthbender on board. It at least lets her know there _is_ a wall there.)

But her instinct was right: The Exile, Azula, is interesting. Also completely _weird_ , and kinda terrible at conversation, but Toph can let that slide. She’s the only kid on a ship full of rebels, of _course_ she’s going to be weird. Then again, it’s not like Toph knows what normal is like. She’s...kinda basing that off of what she’s overheard at the Earth Rumble.

Anyway, normal is overrated, she’s pretty sure about that one.

It’s pretty clear the adults here also have no idea what “normal” is, and are quite possibly making it up as they go along. Which really does explain why Tsui and Shika are currently teaching her and Azula how to cheat at gambling while they wait for her parents to arrive.

The ship’s captain, Jee, wanders by. “What are you two doing now?” Wow, that was an impressive amount of suffering implied in that question.

“A math lesson,” Shika replies calmly.

Tsui snickers.

Toph is gonna _miss_ this.

“I don’t know why I even bother,” Jee sighs. “They’re only eleven.”

“I’m ten,” Toph feels the need to correct. She had a birthday recently, thank you very much.

“That’s worse, Toph.” 

Azula laughs softly next to her.

(She’s very proud it’s only taken a week to get him to stop calling her “Miss Beifong”. Not even Azula’s managed to get him to use her first name, but Toph’s not sure Azula’s even thought to _try_ yet. That makes competitions harder.)

She hears Koji clear his throat somewhere off to the side. “Um sir? I think the Beifongs have arrived.”

Drat. 

Well, she knew it was only a matter of time. She rolls to her feet, and Azula offers up a forearm to help without prompting. 

Toph feels Tsui clasp her on the shoulder. “Take care of yourself, all right? Don’t take any shit.” Their voice sounds strangely rough. She notices no one says a word about the swearing this time.

Jee and Uncle go with them down the gangplank. Toph would be a damn _liar_ if she said it wasn’t a relief to be on solid earth again, to be able to sense things. And as soon as her feet hit dirt, she knows that Bàba’s standing in front of them along with Mother. She’s...mildly surprised it’s _only_ the two of them.

“Toph.” And Mother sounds so relieved that she almost feels guilty, because the last week was the most fun she’s had, well, ever. And what kind of daughter does that even make her if she’s having fun while her parents are worried senseless?

“Mother. Bàba.” Because what else _can_ she say?

Bàba steps forward. “General Iroh, Exile” he says stiffly. “Thank you for taking care of my daughter.”

“It was our pleasure. A delightful young lady you’ve raised,” Uncle says, all pleasant and formal, which seems to make Bàba even more uncomfortable.

“Yes, well.” He holds out his hand. “Come along now, Toph. It’s time to go home.”

Toph feels Azula’s arm falter, just slightly, as she releases her helping hand. Toph turns, surprised because this is The Exile, who has never been anything less than absolutely certain in anything this entire week. That she’s suddenly unsure about anything is...

“Thank you,” she whispers, made even softer by the scarf. “I...enjoyed this past week. Maybe...we’ll get to do it again sometime.” She doesn’t exactly sound hopeful, but the words are utterly sincere.

This isn’t The Exile talking. This isn’t some story told in gambling dens and tea houses or in the stands of the Earth Rumble. This is Azula talking, this is her _friend_ talking. Or damn well close enough to be a friend? Toph’s never really had one of those before. But she thinks this is what it’s supposed to be like. Because right now, she really doesn’t want to go. She doesn’t want to _leave_.

“Yeah,” Toph says, quietly. “Me too.” She takes a step towards her parents...

...and stops.

“Toph.” Bàba sounds annoyed.

“No.”

Why does she have to leave? Why can’t she stay? No one on the ship thought any less of her because she’s blind. They all saw her earthbend and just kinda...went with it. They saw her, really saw her. And that was really, really satisfying.

But what she’s really afraid of is if she leaves right now, if she lets Azula get on that boat again without her, Toph is _never_ going to see her again. Her maybe-friend is The Exile, has the most powerful Navy in the world after her, has the _Fire Lord_ after her. There’s a really good chance that her maybe-friend is going to _die_. And what if Toph could have prevented it?

What if this is the only shot at a real friend Toph is ever going to get, because if she goes back with her parents, they’re going to lock her away from the world “for her own good”? And while she’s locked safely in the estate, her maybe-friend is going to be risking her life and likely dying just to stick it to the Fire Lord one more time. Because this was life-or-death to her and, what? A game? A fun little adventure for Toph?

Toph plants her feet. “No, Bàba.”

He stumbles, clearly shocked. “What is this? What are you doing?”

“I don’t want to leave. Please let me stay with them a little while longer.” She takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to be locked away again.”

Bàba flinches slightly. Mother cuts in first. “Toph, little flower,” she says (Toph _hates_ that nickname so very much), “you’re so young. And you don’t want to get in their way, make them have to protect you too.”

Toph bristles. “They won’t have to. I’m an earthbender, Mother, Bàba. And I’m a good one. _Really_ good. I can help them. I can help all of us. There’s a _war_ out there.”

Here’s the thing about earth. Earth is solid. Earth is stable. Earth is reliable. But when it wants to, earth is the thing that dares the rest of the world. When earth wants to stay still, it tells the world to move around it. And when earth decides to move, you get out of the way. If you want to do the impossible, you move mountains.

And mountains will move before Toph Beifong. 

“Maybe you don’t see it outside the walls of the estate, and I might be blind, but I know it’s out there. The Fire Nation already was right on our doorstep.” She keeps her voice steady, focuses on Bàba because she knows he’s the one she has to convince. “We can’t hide forever. You can’t hide _me_ forever, like I’m your shameful secret. And I can’t keep denying who I am.”

Bàba is shaking his head. “No, Toph, you don’t...You’re young. You don’t understand how the world is cruel. How dangerous it is...”

Toph listens to his words, and listens to his heart. He’s scared. He’s so very, very scared. He knows what he’s saying doesn’t make sense, not considering where she’s been for the last week, but her Bàba, the man who she always saw as calm and collected and always with an angle of attack at a negotiation, that man is saying whatever he can think of to make her possibly listen.

“Bàba, please.”

He...falls silent.

(She gets the strangest feeling that he’s looking at her for the very first time.)

Her father takes a deep breath, and then lets his shoulders slump. “Very well, Toph.”

“Lao!” Mother yells. But Toph barely hears it. He...he acquiesced. He actually did that. 

He holds up a hand. “If...the crew of this vessel allow it, I believe we can come to some sort of...arrangement.”

Uncle clears his throat behind her. “I believe we would be able to do that, yes. I hear there is a very fine tea shop in this town, if you’d care to join me?” He walks forward and offers his arm to Mother, who takes it automatically, in a daze.

Bàba turns to follow them, then halts and turns back. “Toph,” he says, sounding very tired. “I’m...It’s all right if you don’t believe me right now, but...you’ve never been a shameful secret. I was scared, and I’m sorry for that.” He slowly walks after Uncle and Mother, Jee following all of them and leaving Toph and Azula by the docks alone.

(Toph is...going to set all of what Bàba just said aside to deal with later.)

Toph turns to her maybe-friend. “So...I guess I might be staying longer after all.”

Azula shifts her weight, slightly awkward. “It appears so.”

“Guess that means you don’t get your room back to yourself.”

“I am not continuing to sleep on the floor.”

Oh yeah. They’re gonna be _friends_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of notes here.
> 
> 1\. Uh, holy shit, this work now has fanart? mkp10000 did a [face-meltingly awesome rendition of Azula](https://mkp10000.tumblr.com/post/627479511347445760/the-sun-dont-shine-underground-chapter-1). Seriously. I lost the ability to words.
> 
> 2\. There's a side-story for this chapter. If you're wondering why Lao Beifong isn't drinking the "terrible parenting" juice (Ozai stole it all), this possibly will shed some light: [how can you take your heart out of this? (how do you stop once you've started?)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26242834/)


	7. stand up and decide (to set something, anything, on fire)

Yuka feels...fine. Really. She’s totally fine. She’s not dead! That’s a positive! And it really does say a lot about her life that the bar is _that low_. Or, well, _said_ a lot about her life. 

She twines the water through her fingers.

This? This is new. This is weird. And this is where Yuka has to keep reminding herself that she’s _fine_ before she forgets and gives herself a panic attack. Again.

(Fai really is way too forgiving when someone accidentally ruins his shirts.)

But here she is, out on the deck of the ship, in full view of everyone, playing cat’s cradle with seawater. And no one is trying to kill her. Sure, there were a few side-eyes at first, and a few comments, but...honestly? She’d _heard_ them all already. That’s the reaction she’s used to based on how she looks. It’s the _other_ reactions that leave her startled and unsteady.

Like the little princess’s _utter fascination_ with it. Yuka had caught her watching intently as Sub-Lt. Shika went over some basic firebending control exercises to see if they could adapt them for water. (They could, but the water was... _recalcitrant_ about it.) She still has no idea why, because she’s pretty sure the little princess learned these exercises when she was still toddling.

(Yuka knows she technically doesn’t have the title but, well, the Fire Lord can shove that edict too. What’s Yuka supposed to do, call the princess “Azula” or something? Haha what? No.)

“I don’t understand why — stairs, front — you’re stubborn about this. It’s an objective fact.”

Speaking of, Yuka can’t help but smile a little as she hears the little princess lead the newest person aboard this...whatever it was up to the deck. One, because it’s pretty adorable how seriously she takes her job as a set of eyes in the admittedly chaotic terrain that is the ship. Two, because as weird as it was having another kid on board, it’s almost worth it alone to see their first kid act her age. 

“Um, no? In what world is _anpan_ better than _melonpan_? It’s made with beans!” Toph appears on-deck waving her arms in emphasis. 

And three, it’s _hilarious_.

“Melonpan — railing, ten — doesn’t even contain — rope, two and deck — any melon.”

Apparently, today they are arguing about bread, of all things. 

“Lies and slander.”

Unfortunately, Yuka’s pretty sure the princess’s blank look is completely lost on Toph. Then she realizes the two kids are headed in _her_ direction. Yuka furtively glances around and comes to the horrifying realization that she’s the only visible, vaguely responsible adult-like figure in the vicinity.

Oh no.

Sure enough, they come to a stop right in front of her. The princess looks up at her over her scarf. 

There’s a moment of awkward silence.

“You are...Sailor Yuka?” the princess asks.

(The realization that she has the same problem with names that Yuka does is...mind-boggling and is probably a sign that Yuka needs to get over herself.)

“Er, just Yuka is fine.” The girl nods seriously at this. “What do you need?”

“Toph wanted to test some strategies with coal, but Uncle Iroh’s rules are that any testing requires the supervision of an adult bender.”

“And you’re a waterbender, right? So you should be totally fine with any fire,” Toph adds.

Yuka is fairly certain General Iroh meant adult _firebender_ supervision. Of which Yuka is not.

She really wishes any other adult was on the deck. Because one look into patiently expectant gold eyes and she knows she’s doomed.

Later, Yuka thinks it wasn’t a total disaster. She did get a lot of practice putting out pieces of burning coal (because the children have decided to try to _combine_ their bending) before they could light something actually important on fire. She’s in the middle of sweeping the latest round of flaming rocks into the sea when Lt. Jee and General Iroh show up.

General Iroh looks like he’s about ten seconds from a heart attack and hurries over to the kids. Lt. Jee just sighs and says “Thank you, sailor, for keeping the ship from going up in flames.”

“I admit I also had a slight vested interest in not seeing that happen as well, sir,” Yuka says dryly.

“Noted.” Lt. Jee then gives her a look. It’s a complicated one; it’s not a bad one, not like the ones from her father or step-mother. He clears his throat. “How is that going, by the way? The...waterbending?”

Yuka blinks a bit. He actually sounds _interested_. That’s never happened before. The princ— Azula is one thing; she’s _eleven_. Lt. Jee is old enough to be her _dad_. “Um, it’s...fine? I’m not really good at all yet so no one has to worry about me capsizing the ship...”

He raises an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t expect you to do that anyway, seeing as how you probably have a slightly vested interest in not seeing that happen.”

Oh unfair, throwing her words back at her like that. Yuka feels her cheeks heat.

The general comes back, two smaller shadows trailing him. She wonders if he convinced them to stop or...nope, that pile of coal is gone. “Done for now?” she asks.

Toph shrugs. “Smoky over here burns through the coal too fast to keep it up.”

Azula turns to her friend with a look of pure bafflement. “‘Smoky’?”

“Have you smelled your shirts? Seriously. Every one of them.”

Yuka fights a smile as the girl looks down at the shirt she’s currently wearing, like she’s seriously contemplating testing this right this second. “I think it’s a firebender thing,” she says, taking pity. (Koji certainly whines about the same thing when he steals Fai’s shirts.)

She can’t tell if the look she gets is confusion or betrayal. Probably confusion. Poor kid clearly never had a nickname before.

(Like she can talk. Like she ever had a nickname that wasn’t also an insult or a slur. Something that flayed open her skin like a papercut a hundred times, in a hundred different ways. The thousand cuts didn’t kill her, just made her bleed all the same. 

Yuka doesn’t know how to deal with this either. What a ship of misfits they are.)

She’s not the only one hiding a smile. Lt. Jee covers it by clearing his throat again. “If you have a moment, Princess, we should discuss where your next destination is.”

“Wow, you don’t just wander aimlessly around the contested territories causing problems for the Fire Navy?” Yuka can’t actually tell if Toph is being sarcastic or not.

“No, we wander purposefully around to cause problems for the Fire Navy,” Yuka’s mouth says before her brain can actually stop her. Oh Spirits, who are the actual literal children here? Because she’s not sure she qualifies as an adult right now.

The little princess scrunches up her face a little, clearly thinking. “The Southern Air Temple,” she finally says.

Well, that came out of nowhere.

“Huh? Why there?” Toph asks.

The princess — Azula, dammit self — looks over at General Iroh. “That’s where Zuko said.”

The General looks worried. “He did, but that was before...everything else happened.”

From what Yuka can tell, this does not seem to be a compelling argument. Glancing over at Lt. Jee, he clearly can tell the same thing. “I’ll go tell Shika to plot a course.” He looks at her and inclines his head. 

Yuka looks at whatever weird argument is happening between the exiled royals, decides she wants absolutely no part of it, and takes Lt. Jee’s gesture as a nonverbal command to follow. If nothing else, maybe Shika can come up with better ways to extinguish burning rocks in case she ever gets mistaken for a responsible adult again.

——

Zuko has his hair down.

He’s sneaking out of the Palace, he’s wearing clothes that he stole from the servants’ laundry, he’s going out into the city without any of the actual guards knowing, and the thing that’s bothering him the most is that his hair isn’t tied up in a topknot.

“Oh good, you listened,” Mai says as soon as she sees him. She looks over him critically. “Not bad.”

He scowls. “I’m not completely hopeless at this.” He rubs the back of his head and twitches again at the unbound hair. He knows why he can’t wear it. Their entire plan is to not be noticed when they sneak out into the city. Wearing the distinctive hairstyle of the crown prince that even nobility shies away from? Even he knows that’s a dead giveaway.

“Here, I can braid it if it’s bothering you,” Ty Lee offers.

“Yes, please.” She has to hop onto a nearby ledge to properly reach, but her nimble fingers mean that his hair is soon out of his face and neatly braided. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem, Zuko!” she chirps, grining. “Your hair is so soft, it’s fun to play with.”

Zuko touches the end of the braid and has an idea. Maybe it’s stupid, but... “Do you...could you teach me?”

Mai gives him an unimpressed look. “You want to make this a regular thing?”

“Not me! It’s just...Mom was gone when Azula was pretty little. I don’t think...I don’t know if Mom ever got a chance to show her how to do it.” He suddenly finds his shoes really very interesting. Gosh, what fine quality.

(It’s true, though. He’s seen her with the topknot and the topknot only. He _assumes_ she sleeps with it unbound, because even Azula can’t be that much of a stickler for rules. But Zuko remembers some of the fancy hairstyles Mom used to wear, and while he has no delusions about ever being able to pull off anything that elaborate, he thinks she’d like the chance to at least do something different.

Azula would have learned all those hairstyles from Mom, if Mom was...still here. Zuko can’t replace that. He’s not a substitute for Mom, can never be, just a pale imitation of what Mom would have done.)

(He tries to imagine Azula with a braid and a smile and all he comes up with looks wrong. Looks like Ty Lee with the wrong coloring. He’s not sure why he can’t get a good picture.)

Ty Lee’s hand on his shoulder makes him look up. Her smile looks a little wobblier than usual. “Of course I can teach you. Mai will help too!”

“I will?”

Ty Lee huffs at her and deploys her devastatingly effective armapuppy eyes on her. (Zuko’s been on the receiving end of those, and he’d give them about even odds on ending the war if they just sent Ty Lee to use them on whoever was in charge of the enemy forces.)

Mai huffs and rolls her eyes. “Fine.” She looks over at him. “Can we go now?’

“This was Ty Lee’s idea,” he says. ‘I don’t know where we’re going.”

“Come on, we’re gonna be late.” Ty Lee starts off down the winding streets of Caldera City. Zuko and Mai share a look before hurrying after her. They haven’t really seen her this excited in a long time. That’s half the reason he agreed to this little adventure. One of the premiere circuses, Taiyō no Sākasu, is in Caldera City for their tour, and both he and Mai know their friend has been enamored with them for years. It’s a small thing, really, to agree to do this for her.

Zuko had offered to use the Royal Box, anything at all Ty Lee had wanted. What she actually wanted was for all three of them to go dressed like commoners. Something about how the experience wouldn’t be the same from the Box? And Ty Lee had always wanted to see things from the crowd like everyone else.

So that’s how Zuko finds himself handing over coins for tickets, getting shoved and jostled by other circus goers, getting fire flakes from a stall that the Palace chefs would have died looking at but taste better than any the kitchens had ever produced. It’s loud and crowded and full of life and Zuko has never seen his own country like this.

He’s read about it, of course. Listened to countless lectures and speeches about the glory of the Fire Nation to the point he could recite them in his sleep. He’s seen productions put on by some of the best theater troupes in the country, listened to some of their finest operas, recited poetry from hundreds of years worth of poets. But it’s here, in the middle of this mass of humanity, in borrowed pants he’s pretty sure are already muddy at the hems, it’s here that he _believes_ it all over again.

This is what the war is for. This is what they want to share with the rest of the world. This joyful life free of toil, where hard work is rewarded with leisure, not more toil. All the technology of the Fire Nation, the vast machines that rumble and churn, dig up fields and harvest so much more efficiently than the old, backwards ways that the Earth Kingdom still uses, still tilling the soil by hand. Their methods mean less people starving, more time to create beautiful works of art or even better advances in technology and elsewhere. The medicines they have that can extend life, save lives, make better lives. 

Things are _better_ this way. 

Suddenly, Ty Lee grabs his hand. She’s already grabbed Mai’s and is pulling them forward towards the main tent. “We’re gonna be late!”

“Okay, okay!” he yelps, stumbling after. He nearly loses his cup of fire flakes, which would have been a real tragedy.

Mai sighs.

They find seats and settle in, just in time for the show to start. Ty Lee is, of course, absolutely enthralled. Zuko has no idea about a lot of this, but the acrobatics are impressive and he’s listened to his friend enough over the years to know that their techniques are impressive too. (Zuko privately thinks Ty Lee could do better than almost any of them, and they’re _professionals_ )

But a curious thing happens during one of the performances. It’s a version of a classic spirit tale of the Lord of Rice, a man who helped a woman who was secretly a dragon princess. In the tale, he fights a monster and in return she gives him armor and a bag of rice that never runs out. It’s a simple tale, except in this version, an acrobat in a golden fox mask appears and lurks in the background, and at a critical moment, provides the distraction the hero needs. Zuko’s pretty sure the character is supposed to be the Celestial Fox, based on the rest of the fiery gold and red costume, but that spirit’s never been in this tale.

What’s even stranger is that there’s a gasp in the audience when the Fox first steps out, and a strange sort of quiet falls over the tent. It doesn’t make any sense. Zuko glances at his friends and Ty Lee looks just as confused. Mai looks, well, normal. But he can see her focusing on the performer lurking in the shadows.

“What did you see, Mai?” he asks, afterward.

She doesn’t pretend that she doesn’t know what he’s talking about. “The Fox was new.”

Ty Lee nods. “Yeah, I never heard a version of that spirit tale that involved them. Hm...” Both Mai and Zuko turn to look at her expectantly. She blinks, wide-eyed. “Oh! One of my sisters said she heard that the character’s getting really popular recently. I should probably tell her that even the Taiyō no Sākasu is putting them in now.”

“Huh,” Zuko says. “I wonder why all of a sudden.”

That scroll he was looking at that one night, back in Azula’s room, that had the Celestial Fox too. The scroll had been opened to that section so many times, the paper rolled flat to it. That’s got to be, has to be, just a weird coincidence.

It doesn’t make it hurt any less. He didn’t even know that story was her favorite. How had he not known that? And now, he thinks maybe if he doesn’t turn his head too quickly, he can see her out of the corner of his eye, sitting there between Mai and Ty Lee, looking pleased and delighted. 

(Zuko keeps seeing her in the places she’s not.)

Ty Lee shrugs, then sighs longingly. “I wish I could just...stay here. Be a part of this.”

“Why don’t you?” he wonders. Then thinks about it. It’s not like she couldn’t do it. She’s equal to or better than almost all the performers he’s seen.

She laughs. “I can’t do that! My parents would never allow it. I’d have to, I don’t know, run away or something.”

Mai gives her a flatter look than normal. “You say that like you wouldn’t absolutely do that if you could.”

“Well...yeah, of course I would.”

Zuko turns that over in his mind a few times. There’s something there, not quite a plan yet. Plans aren’t always his strong suit. (Thank Agni for Mai, who’d probably stab him if it’d keep him from doing something really dumb. It’s a very effective form of impulse control.)

They’re walking back to the palace, Ty Lee giving a recap of everything they just saw along with technical commentary (yeah, definitely better than most of the performers), when Mai abruptly changes the subject. “Zuko, did you ever find anything else useful in the Archives?”

He sighs. “That’s...complicated,” he admits.

“Uncomplicate it.”

Which one of them is royalty again? Not that Zuko would ever say that to Mai’s face. He likes keeping his blood on the inside, thanks.

(She’d make really good royalty, though, he thinks. Or advisor. Or diplomat. Really anything where she could put the fear of Agni into people.)

“Okay, okay. I stopped looking for how to reverse banishment, since it’s...not that anymore.” He grimaces. ‘Exile’ is still a hard word to say. “I was also looking up information on the last known Avatar, the airbender, but, well, even if I could send what I found, it’d go through my uncle, and...” he trails off.

“You really think your uncle is trying to,” Ty Lee pauses and glances around before lowering her voice, “take the throne?”

“I don’t know! All the legal texts I found make that sound all but impossible, since the only reason my father got it is because the Sages declared Uncle had lost the Mandate after Grandfather died.” He shook his head. “They were pretty clear on that. I mean, I know Lu Ten had just died too but...”

“He had a duty and failed to do it,” finishes Mai. Zuko nods. That’s what the Fire Sages’ ruling had been. And with a dereliction of duty like that, it would take something extraordinary for the Sages to ever give Uncle the Dragon Throne. And everyone in the Fire Nation knew it.

Which is why none of this made any sense.

Mai frowns slightly. Zuko raises an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“Why now? Why would he be doing it now?” She presses her lips together. “And why the _colonies_? All the old power that might have been sympathetic to him is _here_.”

More questions. Always more questions and Zuko wasn’t sure they were ever going to find the answers.

—-

The Southern Air Temple is tall. That’s what Azula’s initial impression is, at least. She can see the edges of buildings high above, peeking out behind the clouds, but if there was a path leading up to it, it’s long been worn away. Strange, because how then did Sozin’s troops leave all those years ago? Did they scale the cliffs?

“Blessed granite and shale, I have never been so happy to be on the damned ground,” Toph says with some emphasis as she makes her way over to Azula’s side.

“You had rocks on the boat,” Azula points out.

“Not the same, Smoky. So very much not the same.” Toph, it seemed, is reluctant to give up on ‘Smoky’ as a nickname. Azula doesn’t really get why this is necessary, but she’s not going to fight it. She has the feeling Toph would listen to any arguments she has, and then decide to ignore them entirely. Why waste time when you already know the conclusion?

“How do you plan on getting up there, Niece?” Uncle Iroh asks.

Well, Toph did just point out they’re on land now. Azula turns to her. “Stairs?”

“Come on, give me a challenge here.” The rough staircase that sprouts from the ground like a tree as Toph stomps her foot is pretty impressive. But she’s a firebender. Fire doesn’t create, not like this. (Even if it did, it would never do it in Azula’s hands. She knows her hands were never meant to build, not when they were filed down to claws that can only rend and tear and burn. Hands like hers are only ever meant to destroy. There is no sense in wanting what she cannot have.)

Azula doesn’t know why Zuko wants her to be here. Even if she were trying to find the Avatar, the man has no reason to return to this place. She knows of Sozin’s sack of the temple, where Fire Nation soldiers fought Air Nomad warriors. And at the end, rather than surrender honorably when defeated, the Air Nomads decided to slaughter their own futures, their own children, rather than accept the Fire Nation’s victory. Every person, child to elder, all of them died because of their pride. 

The history books called it an unthinkable tragedy. The history books wrote about it _extensively_. So why does Zuko want her here?

The temple courtyard isn’t quite eerie when they reach it. It’s quiet, stones starting to be reclaimed by the earth and vines, but it’s a kind of quiet that suggests something is wrong. The buildings look like nothing she’s ever seen before. If she looks hard enough, here and there she can see the faint traces of scorch marks, long worn away by rain and wind.

“This place is pretty creepy,” mutters Toph.

“It is an Air Nomad temple. No one has been here for almost one hundred years,” says Uncle Iroh.

“Yeah, the room full of skeletons kind of implied that.”

Everyone turns to look at Toph. 

“...I assume that’s one of those things you all didn’t catch.” She scrunches up her face in a grimace. “There’s, um, more than one.”

Uncle Iroh looks incredibly pale. “Are you all right?”

She tilts her head at him. “Yeah? Hundred years ago, you said. It’s just...kinda spooky. They’re all in there,” she says, gesturing to the temple buildings.

If Zuko wants her to go see century-old skeletons, Azula will go look at century-old skeletons. She’s making her way over to one of the large doors when a glint of something catches her attention. An old-style Fire Nation helmet, slightly dented, sits on the ground. She can still see old blood flaking off inside when she picks it up. The wound would have been fatal.

Azula kneels down and brushes away the snow where the helmet was. Unsurprisingly, there is a skeleton, still in armor that matches the helmet.

There’s a funny tightness in her chest, a tingling in her fingers like she’s hyperaware of her surroundings right now. She’s seen the dead before. This is so long dead that it’s just a skeleton; there is no blood or sinew to suggest this was anything but an inanimate object, something as far from life as a rock. Azula doesn’t know who this person was, only that they were, because this is what was left behind.

(Whoever it is never went home. This could be her future. It will be her future.) (This is a truth she’s known for a very long time. Honored Father said she was a tool and all tools break. There is no room for sentimentality.)

Uncle Iroh startles her when he puts his hand on her shoulder. Azula looks up at him, confused. He looks incredibly sad. She turns back to the skeleton, trying to figure out what she’s missing. The sack of the temple was too long ago for Uncle Iroh to have known this person. 

She tilts her head. “Why?” she asks him.

He looks surprised. “Why what?” His voice is quiet, a weird weight behind those two words she can’t decipher.

She isn’t sure how to ask, or even _what_ to ask. He doesn’t make sense. (He had been making sense, but then he does something like this and it ruins the whole pattern. How do other people do this? Or is this...) “Your expression is...sad.” It’s not the right word, but she doesn’t know what the correct word even is. “The soldier died a long time ago. They would be dead now anyway. You...didn’t have a personal connection.”

Uncle Iroh somehow looks even sadder. “They’re still...they were someone’s child once. Maybe a sibling or a parent. I can be reminded of other losses. I can still be upset by what they represent.”

Azula looks back at the old skeleton, still in Fire Nation armor, similar but older than the armor she wears.

(Or is this...just her? Is she broken somehow?)

They...the Fire Nation burns their dead. Those born of fire return to it in the end, spirits freed of their mortal bindings to rise as smoke to Agni’s embrace, to rise up to the sun. At least, that’s what she remembers from Former Fire Lord Azulon’s Funeral. But this person...”Why were they not burned?”

“I suppose it’s because no one was left after to do so,” Uncle Iroh whispers.

There’s something...not right about that. Azula isn’t sure what. She knows Zuko wouldn’t be happy with that answer, but she’s not sure why it is so dissatisfying. Although Toph did say that there were many skeletons inside the temple. So if there was no one left, then what does that say for what lies within the complex?

Azula turns away from the lone skeleton and walks into the temple. The ceilings are high, painted in colors still vivid even after all this time. Scenes of humans and spirits, nature and civilization side-by-side living in harmony. There are the old symbols for the Air Nomads, along with those of Fire, Water, and Earth. She cranes her neck to see all she can. Vines creep up the sides of the stonework, trying to reclaim what once was theirs, leaves reaching towards the covered sky. 

Her footsteps echo on the stone, reverberating and blending as the sound travels, a chorus of ghost-steps in her wake. The wind blows through the archways and crumbling masonry, curling around corners and through windows of varying sizes. A different chord with every soft breeze, low and mournful, accompanying the rhythm of her and the ghosts’ steps. A chant, a counterpoint, a harmony. She knows the words, but never like this.

The wind is _singing_.

(Azula’s never heard anything like this. _This_ is what the Air Nomads could do?)

(It’s...beautiful.)

The crunch of bone underfoot is deafening.

The bone is thin, delicate like a bird’s. An arm, curled around a skull, spine bent and knees tucked to the chin. Small bones, so very small. Finger bones smaller than hers. A jaw full of baby teeth, one missing in the front. The bones are scorched.

A child, forever frightened, hiding from the flame.

There’s another hand, out of the corner of her eye. Only slightly bigger than the first child’s, forever reaching out and never grasping.

This skeleton’s legs are missing. Azula knows what a severed spine looks like, knows the cut of a Fire Nation dao; she knows how this one died too.

Her gaze slowly tracks upward, following the path of destruction. There’s something in her mind screaming at her not to look, to turn away, this is not what she wants to see, this will change _everything_. (The voice sounds like Former Fire Lord Azulon. She stopped listening to him long ago.) 

She looks and feels something fundamental _splinter_.

The back wall of the temple used to be beautiful. The same colors as the ceiling remain in traces on the stone, where it isn’t blackened and scorched. Where it isn’t soaked by old, rust-colored stains that have seeped into the stone. Where it isn’t covered with bones.

So many bones.

They are in a jumbled mass, as if some giant swept them away without care of how they fell. Skulls and hands, spines and ribs, broken and whole and every one of them scorched and blackened, flesh long-ago stripped away by unforgiving flames. Jaws hanging open in eternal, soundless screaming.

And every bone is smaller than her own.

(The texts say the Air Nomads killed their own.)

(The texts say the Air Nomads killed their own.)

(Honored Father said the Air Nomads killed their own.)

( _The Air Nomads killed their own._ )

Air Nomads would not kill with fire.

(The texts are _wrong_.)

(Honored Father is _wrong_.)

( _This is **wrong**._)

Azula’s knees crash into stone as she falls, clutching at her head. She doesn’t even notice the pain, because the thought-patterns in her head are all jumbled and spiralling. The facts she was taught are at odds with what she sees. Every account said they were the honorable ones. But these children were cut down by Fire Nation steel, burned and stripped of flesh by flame.

Distantly, she hears footsteps eching, running. “Smoky? Aw crap, hey! Smoky!’

Small, strong hands grip her wrists and pry her hands from her head. Azula looks up into milky green eyes. “Hey, you back with us?” Toph asks gruffly.

Azula blinks. ‘Yes,” she says, throat feeling drier than usual. She’s aware that there are other crew members who’ve entered the temple. Some of them are staring at the two of them; others are focused on the dead instead. They look as lost and confused as she is. (It is not comforting.)

“Great. Now what the hell happened?”

“The dead...they’re children.” Why is her throat so dry? “They died from fire.”

Toph gives her a strange look that she can’t understand. “Uh, yeah? You guys, well, the Fire Nation killed all the Air Nomads. Everyone knows that.”

Azula’s eyes go wide. “That’s...the Air Nomads killed themselves rather than surrender. They couldn’t accept that the Fire Nation defeated their warriors.” She repeats what she’s been taught, even though the evidence against it is right here. But Toph doesn’t understand and Azula doesn’t have the words to explain that reality itself is lying.

Toph laughs, disbelief clearly threaded through. “Smoky, I dunno what to tell you, but _everybody_ knows about the Air Nomad genocide. They were _pacifists_.”

—-

The Southern Air Temple is a grave. Iroh knew this, on some level, before he took his first step onto the temple grounds. He knew the lessons he was taught as a boy, tales of Fire Lord Sozin’s victory over the treacherous Air Nomads, from the knee of the man himself. And he also knew the truth, learned when the scales were ripped from his eyes and he was forced to bear witness to the sins of his family in the Spirit World.

So he knew very well that every inch of the place he now stood was a mausoleum. Azula’s honest bewilderment at the sight of a dead Fire Nation soldier abruptly reminds him that he is one of the only ones who knows this here. He learns that it goes deeper than that, that she doesn’t understand his sorrow. He knows she’s seen the dead before, she admitted she had, and she looks at the dead man like the bones are nothing more than a broken tool.

It should disturb him. It does disturb him, but it does so in the way that carves out a hole in his chest. (How many ways has his family failed this child?) 

He stands still as the world moves around him, staring at this long-dead man and seeing Lu Ten in his place. It’s almost impossible not to; he sees his son in every soldier boy’s face, sees him in the ghosts of every dead man. Every father’s child.

Toph’s yells remind him of the living child he still has, and he runs into the temple to see Azula kneeling on the ground, tearing at her hair. Iroh doesn’t know what’s wrong, just that something is and he’ll be damned if he stands around and does nothing. He’s in time for his heart to break again as he hears his niece stumble over the questions he finally asked when he was four times her age. (She’s so young.)

“Smoky, I dunno what to tell you, but _everybody_ knows about the Air Nomad genocide. They were _pacifists_.”

“Azula, niece...” his voice is soft as he slowly walks up to the two children. Azula’s spine is curled, a defensive shell against the world. Iroh wants so badly to offer comfort, to even just place a hand on her shoulder, but he stops himself before he can offer an unwanted touch. Not when he still doesn’t know her well enough to be certain if it would help or hinder. He swallows hard, then continues. “She’s not wrong.”

Toph’s head jerks up, tilting towards him (he swears those blind eyes see deeper into him than almost anything else). “Does,” she swallows, voice cracking, like she’s wary of the answers she’ll get, “do they not teach you that in the Fire Nation?”

Iroh shakes his head, then catches himself. He sees some of the other crew has made their way into the temple. Most are staring in shock and sorrow at the evidence of a long-ago massacre. Some of the younger crew (he spies Yuka, Koji the earthbender, and Fai all hanging back) look sick and disgusted and horrified. The older crew do not look much better, although he knows they’ve seen other horrors. (Iroh sees the lies break down in Jee’s pained sorrow and Sub-Lt. Shika’s placid fury.)

“No,” he answers Toph. “They teach Fire Lord Sozin’s account. This isn’t spoken of anywhere.”

He watches the girl’s jaw clench. “Well, that’s...okay, that’s unsurprising and also really disturbing.” Toph finally lets go of his niece’s wrists and sighs. “And all the skeletons are really creepy, which sucks because this place would be pretty cool. But they’d have to get rid of all the bones.”

Azula isn’t gripping her head anymore. She’s just staring at the pile of bones in the corner, eyes moving rapidly as she takes in what she’s seeing. There’s a calculus happening inside her head, a reevaluation he’s sure, but at least it isn’t blank shock. (He thought the worst when he ran in and saw her with her head in her hands: that this had been too much, after everything else, just one last blow that would shatter her. His brother has twisted this child’s mind in so many ways, Iroh doesn’t know where any cracks even are.)

He is startled when she heads back out to the Fire Nation soldier and starts removing the armor, carefully setting it aside. “What are you doing?” he asks.

She halts and looks up. “We could use the armor. Chief Engineer Tsui needs scrap materials,” she says blankly. Before he can open his mouth to explain the concept of “grave desecration’, she looks down at the bones and her clenched fists. “And...they should be...Zuko would say it’s dishonorable to leave them like this.”

Iroh isn’t entirely convinced his nephew would immediately be a shining paragon of morality, but he holds his tongue. This is not a fight to have with his niece right now, not when she’s at least coming to decent conclusions, even if she’s going about it, well, sideways at best. (This is another thing he’ll have to untangle. Spirits, he doesn’t know where to start.)

“We can give our soldiers back to the flame,” he agrees.

Her forehead creases, like she’s frowning. “It doesn’t seem correct to do that for the Air Nomads.” She looks up at him, and for the first time, there’s something that looks like worry in her eyes. “I don’t...I don’t know what they did.” Her voice is quiet, like she fears even admitting to not knowing something, even if she has no reason to know it in the first place. (Again, he wonders if his brother even realized he had a child to teach instead of a blade to forge and hone.) (Iroh, a man who had to turn men into weapons, is teaching her how to _write_ , and the incongruity has him not knowing if he wants to laugh or weep.)

“I’ll inform the crew.” He sighs, and his hand drops onto the top of her head. It’s a thoughtless action, a comforting gesture he did for his son all the time when he was her size. Before he can snatch his hand away and apologize, Azula’s spine relaxes, and for the first time, he feels her ever so slightly lean into the touch. 

Unsurprisingly, Jee looks grim when Iroh informs him of the idea to lay the dead to rest here, but it’s a grimness that matches the task ahead, not an objection to the work itself. “We’ll separate them. The...victims do not deserve further insult,” Jee says quietly. “I don’t know where to lay them.”

A sharp cry echoes throughout the temple grounds, low and mournful. A large bird circles overhead, one with the widest wingspan Iroh has ever seen. Long iridescent tail feathers trail behind it, glinting in the sunlight.

Jee gasps. “Is that...blessed hearthfire, that’s the garuda.” His voice cracks. “My grandfather thought it had completely disappeared.”

Iroh looks at Jee, rather surprised at the comment. The garuda, the guardian spirit-beast of the air, has not been seen since Sozin’s time. He had thought it died with the Air Nomads.

“If not for the war, I would probably not be a military man.” Jee sounds rather stiff. “My grandfather would have wished me to...keep the old ways.”

“He was a priest?”

“Was trained, yes. He never practiced. Officially speaking.” Jee gives Iroh a side-long glance.

“Officially speaking, of course.” Iroh understands the subtext. As part of Sozin’s reforms, he standardized the state religion. Old practices were all but wiped out as they were labeled superstition and forbidden. Folk shrines that had been cared for by the same family for generations burned to the ground or were simply repurposed. It was for the march of modernization, and sacrifices had to be made.

(What does Iroh’s family know of sacrifice?)

(He thinks of his son. He thinks of his niece. Some of them know quite a bit about sacrifice.)

The garuda cries again. Azula appears at his side, staring up at the great bird. “It sounds like the wind’s song,” she says quietly as they watch the bird land somewhere just beyond the temple.

Iroh frowns, but Jee considers her words. “You mean from the temple?” She nods.

“I wonder...” Iroh muses aloud, then hurries to where the garuda must have landed. What are the chances a long-lost spirit guardian, sacred to the Air, would appear just as exiled Fire Nationals try to make amends? He’s been around too long to think this is mere coincidence. Spirits might operate under their own rules, but he’s not foolish enough to ignore the obvious. (Not anymore.)

The garuda is perched on the edge of the cliff, just beyond the temple grounds, underneath the clear sky. It’s an open space, and Iroh thinks he understands. 

“Here,” he says when Jee catches up. “I believe the spirit is telling us to lay them here.”

The spirit guardian watches them as the crew of the _Pariah_ carefully and respectfully lay the bones of the Air Nomads to rest at the edge of the cliff. . They don’t just clean out the massacre in the temple; they comb the complex grounds to find everyone they can. Some skeletons are whole. These, they lay out individually, as intact as they possibly can. For those who are not, they place the bones as reverently as possible in stacks as tall as a man.

All of them work, without complaint. Even Azula and Toph, although the two children disappear into the temple complex after his niece has a staring match with the giant bird. The reason becomes clear later, when they reappear carrying incense and braizers.

It’s a poor memorial, feeling inadequate especially after Iroh himself releases the hungry ghosts of his countrymen to the flame. The garuda cries out again when they have finished before taking off into the sky again. 

Iroh watches Azula stare after it. “Why did it do that?” she asks. “Did this represent something to it as well?”

How did he mistake this for antipathy, for cruelty and coldness? His poor niece doesn’t understand but the desperate _want_ is threaded through every word. Her father might use similar words, but he can never infuse that kind of longing into them. If Azula is cold, it is an honest coldness, one born of ignorance and lack of skill, not malice.

His brother would have never asked the question.

Iroh can’t help but think about what if it were Zuko standing here. How would it be different? Once, he knows he would have thought it easier, but now? Perhaps he would have been wrong. His nephew burns brightly, loud like a roaring fire. Zuko’s fury and sorrow upon seeing the devastation here couldn’t have been anything but explosive. (Perhaps he would have never come.) Azula’s quiet contemplation (quiet confusion) is far more appropriate in a way.

“Uncle Iroh?”

His hand rests on the top of her head again. He meets her bewildered expression with a small smile of his own.

“Perhaps. Spirits are not like you or I.”

Even with the scarf, he can see her scowl at the mention of spirits, and she looks so annoyed he can’t help but laugh.

—-

Zuko’s buried halfway up to his neck in the Royal Library. Again. He’s not sure why he keeps coming back. Sure, he can find information that can possibly help Azula, but he doesn’t have any way of actually getting that information to her. Not now, when he knows that Uncle is...

Well, he doesn’t have a good way of doing it.

It just feels like a bad reason to stop. He can figure out how to contact her. His fingers find the small scroll he still keeps in an inside pocket on his shirt. She managed to get a message out to him, even when it should have been impossible. The least he can do is try to return the favor.

Although at the moment, he’s not entirely sure how the information he’s reading about the Water Tribes is going to actually be helpful. (How did he even end up reading about the Water Tribes? He’s certain there’s a very reasonable chain of cross-references and searches that explain this, but damned if he knows what it is.) It’s more from Avatar Roku’s journals, and the more he reads, the more he wonders if the Avatar was _delusional_. 

What _else_ is he supposed to take away from descriptions of the great cultural center at the South Pole?

(How would that even work? The Southern Water Tribe didn’t even have a written _alphabet_ until a few centuries ago. Far, far later than the Fire Nation did. What kind of cultural greatness could happen when you don’t even have _writing_? How do you even have a history?)

Even if it did exist, it’s hard to believe a bunch of people living in a frozen wasteland wearing animal skins have any culture worth exchanging anyway. Unless he’s vastly underestimating the relevance of pretty whale bones or something equally quaint.

(But what if Roku was _right_? What if there really was something like he described down there? It wouldn’t exist now, not after the raids. There’s something undeniably sad about that idea, of any kind of knowledge being lost. All the more reason why anything like that should be in the care of the Fire Nation. They’d at least look after it _properly_.)

Zuko drops the scroll on the table, then rests his head on the wood with a solid ‘thunk’. 

Archivist Keiji glances up from his desk. “Is something the matter, Your Highness?”

“Roku is useless,” he complains, voice muffled.

“So I hear.”

He snorts. Ugh. This is going nowhere. He lifts his head and props his chin on his hand as he looks at Keiji. “I’m reading about the Water Tribe. I don’t even know why I’m reading about the damn Water Tribe.”

Keiji puts down his ink brush. “Well, if the Avatar cycle continued, they would be born in the Tribes.”

“I know _that_.” Zuko lets out an annoyed puff of air. “But by that logic, I should also be looking at the Earth Kingdom. Or it could have cycled all the way back to Fire. Spirits, that would be annoying.”

The man turns his attention down to the scroll he’s been working on and picks up the ink brush. He pauses, then puts the brush back down and looks at Zuko. “Prince Zuko, just what _is_ your objective here?”

Zuko stiffens. He can’t just say that he’s looking for ways to help Azula, not when she’s all but been declared a traitor. Even if he knows that’s not true and that it’s just a ruse by Father, he knows he can’t break the facade. If the wrong people hear about it (and almost everyone in the Court counts as “the wrong people”), Father would lose even more pull. And Zuko isn’t stupid, he knows how dangerous that makes it for _all_ of them, Azula included.

Still, the Archivist has been incredibly helpful. And hasn’t even blinked at some of Zuko’s weirder requests; he just nods as if whatever Zuko asked for was entirely reasonable and disappears into the stacks to fetch it. So that’s points in his favor.

But are there enough points? This is the Royal Palace, after all. Zuko might not be polished when it comes to politics and the Fire Court, but he still has some of that self-preservation instinct Mai insists he doesn’t. Everyone here has an angle. No one does something for nothing. Trust is for fools. 

But loyalty is priceless. Risks are necessary. You can’t get ahead by playing it safe. 

“Prince Zuko?”

Dammit, he spent too long thinking. “Er, what? Oh I was just...trying to figure out how to word it. Explain it. That sort of thing.” Wow, that sounds weak even to his own ears. Come on, Zuko, spin something that sounds true. “It’s just, I’m...really interested in my great-grandfather! And his ideas! So...what better way than to look at his rival and...laws...”

Keiji just nods with a perfectly blank expression. “Of course, Your Highness.”

Zuko wonders if an earthbender snuck in, because he would like nothing better than to sink into the floor right now. “You know what? I think I’m hungry. Yeah, must be late. I’m...I’m just going to go...get some food. And not eat here. Because that would be bad, for the scrolls.” He shoves his notes in his robe, not really paying too much attention to doing it neatly. “Have a good night.”

He totally does _not_ run from the Royal Library, bursting out into the fading sunlight. He then walks very, very quickly to his rooms, only slowing down once he reaches that wing of the palace. At that point, he stops and lets his head meet a pillar with a very solid ‘thunk’.

“I can’t believe I did that.” Zuko closes his eyes and groans. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Your Highness?” A soft voice asks behind him, making him yelp in surprise. “Prince Zuko?”

He spins around and comes face to face with an older female servant, black hair dusted with grey and pulled back in a severe bun. She bows low, dark eyes averted. “Apologies, Your Highness,” she murmurs, “I did not mean to startle you. I only wished to inquire if you needed anything.”

Zuko is about to wave her off when he pauses and takes a closer look at her. Oh, it’s the woman who was in Azula’s room the other night. He gives her a small smile. “I’m fine. Thank you, Wen.” (He’s going to interpret that slight crinkle of her eyes as a sign she’s pleased he remembered her name.)

“Very well, sir. I can take my leave?”

She’s about to walk off down the hall when a thought hits him. “Wait!”

Wen turns around and raises an eyebrow.

As much as Zuko would like to forget about what happened in the Library, the conversation with the Archivist did point out one of his current problems. And it’s the one he’s been avoiding dealing with, even though Mai has repeatedly pointed out that he needs allies. But he feels like the walls are closing in, and he has more trust in an angry tiger-viper than the average Fire noble. They’re the ones who have the most to gain if something were to happen to Father, so working with them just feels like he’s handing them the knives they’re going to stick in his back. (They’re also the ones most likely to support Uncle and it _burns_ to even think about that.)

But what if he’s thinking about it the wrong way? What if he doesn’t _have_ to play games with Court politics? Wen helped him before, and she’s not even technically part of his household. And she offered to help him again. So...maybe he should be looking low instead of high.

He needs to know something first, though. It’s been bothering him ever since he started thinking about that night. “How did you know where to look? That Azula even had that hiding spot.” Did Wen break her trust in showing it to him?

Wen folds her hands into her sleeves. “I didn’t betray Her Highness’ trust, if that is your concern. I’ve served your sister faithfully and to the best of my ability most of her life.” Her lips quirk upwards slightly. “I knew it because she showed me the spot when she first found it. And swore me to secrecy...with the exception being I could tell you, Prince Zuko.”

“Me?” There’s a lot to process out of everything she just told him, but his brain gets stuck on that. “ _I’m_ the exception?”

Wen stares at him levelly. “Her Highness thinks well of you,” she says carefully. 

Oh...she’s still acknowledging Azula’s royal title, something he knows technically got stripped. That’s...what exile does, after all. And Wen’s just a servant. Even though Zuko knows Father means all of this as an elaborate ruse, it’s still dangerous for her to say that to someone like him. He could throw her in prison for treason, or worse. 

Not that he would. Not when it means losing someone else in this place that finally, _finally_ feels almost like he does. (He took Azula for granted. He could complain and get aggravated at her for being a pest because of course his sister would always be there. He’d tell her to go away or not think to include her in something because there was always later. Except that’s not true anymore, and he doesn’t know when the next time is going to be. Because Azula isn’t here and she’s with Uncle, but he can’t trust Uncle to take care of her and that’s the one thing Mom asked Zuko to do. And when it matters most, he can’t do anything and he’s going to _fail_.)

(He hates this feeling. Hates how it _burns_ and how he has to crush it down and bury it away because it just burns hotter and hotter and it makes him feel like he’s going to explode one day.)

Still, the idea that his little sister might still look up to him is really kind of nice. “Oh,” he whispers, swallowing hard. “I...thank you, then. For telling me. It’s been...worrying me.”

She bows her head in acknowledgement. “Of course, Prince Zuko.”

Oh to hell with it. He needs to trust someone, And right now, he doesn’t have a lot of options and he’s going to have to take a risk. This one actually seems less stupid. “You said if I needed help, all I needed to do was ask.”

“I did.”

“Ask,” he clarifies, “not order.”

She nods.

“All right. I...if you happen to hear any rumors, could you...pass them along?” Can you tell me things that don’t get through my mail screen, he very carefully doesn’t say.

One look in the servant’s eye is enough to tell Zuko she got his meaning loud and clear. “Certainly, although I can’t imagine the gossip of servants is anything like the Court.”

He smiles slightly. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” It earns him another almost-smile and then he lets her get on with the rest of her work.

When he reaches his rooms, he lets himself fall face-first onto his bed. Then he yelps, because something jabs him in the hip. What in the world? He sits up.

There’s nothing on the bed. Zuko pats himself down and feels a crinkling in his pockets. Right, he just kinda shoved everything in there when he ran out of the Library. He should probably be organized about this, otherwise he’s never going to find his notes.

He starts emptying his pockets then freezes. It must have been in the pile he grabbed. That’s the only explanation. Zuko swallows hard and hopes he can trust the Archivist, because this wasn’t supposed to leave the library. 

Because in Zuko’s hand is Avatar Roku’s journal.

—-

Toph isn’t quite sure how to feel about the Southern Air Temple. She knew about the skeletons as soon as her foot hit the ground at the top of the stairs. They were all over. And it had been really weird hearing all the crew talk about how pretty everything was, because Toph knew the dead were _right there_. And even without that, she knew they were walking on a grave. She can admit she was more than a little worried that this crew of Fire National rebels were so...not-caring. Did she accidentally end up on a boat full of really sneaky psychopaths?

Of course she’d learned about the Air Nomad genocide, she hadn’t been living under a rock. Or, apparently, in the Fire Nation. Because she can tell that the horrified reactions are one-hundred-percent real, and most of the crew _didn’t know._

That’s...kind of a big deal. Everyone else knows what the Fire Nation did and hates them for it, but apparently they’ve been hating a bunch of people who have no idea they did something wrong? That’s all kinds of messed up.

Azula didn’t seem to be taking the news all that well. She’s quiet. Okay, so Smoky was always kinda quiet, but right now she’s even more quiet than usual. Toph could believe it’s the whole “lots of dead people” thing, but they _met_ over a bunch of much-more-recently-dead bodies. So that’s not it.

Eh, she’ll get Smoky to spill eventually. Right now, Toph’s willing to just chalk it up to yet another weird thing about her friend.

That has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? ‘Friend’. Because they are, even if Azula is a little dense on the subject. And by dense, Toph’s seen rocks that are less hard-headed about things. She is, after all, an expert on the subject.

But honesty hour — wait, no, that’s way too long — honesty minute time, Azula’s probably the best damn thing that comes with being stuck on a metal boat for weeks. Or at least the least worst thing. Because seriously. Metal boat. If ever she needs to point out a single symbol that says “screw you in particular” to the Earth Kingdom, it’s a metal boat.

In any case, that’s why Toph’s also kind of happy they stopped at the Southern Air Temple. Because for the first time in weeks, there was wonderful solid rock and dirt underneath her feet. She didn’t need to rely on anyone else to get around. Didn’t need to be helpless. 

She knows Smoky tries to not be a dick about it, and she appreciates it. Really. She just tells Toph where obstacles or hazards are and lets Toph do with that information what she will. It’s like her own seeing eye lion-dog. Except not a lion-dog, a seeing eye firebender.

All in all, Toph thinks she’s doing pretty good as far as this “first friend” thing goes. Even if all of Azula’s clothes smell like smoke.

And she’s happy they stopped at the temple, even if it’s a mass grave and that’s really all kinds of morbid. So she’s happy about that, and disturbed by the dead people, and even more disturbed at the fact that even the adult Fire Nationals had no idea about the things everyone else did. It’s such a mess and Toph does not want to deal with any of it.

Now, they’re back on the boat, after trying to put the dead Air Nomads to rest as best they could. And she can’t tell if the unsettled feeling is because of that or because she’s back on this _stupid metal boat_. She groans in frustration.

“Toph?” Azula sounds about as concerned as she can. Which is honestly not very, but she appreciates the effort.

The two of them are sitting next to each other on the deck, out of the way of sailors doing...whatever it is they need to do to make the boat go. (The engineer, Tsui, tried to explain it once, but all Toph got out of it was that it involved a lot of fire and burning rocks. Possibly explosions? It went over her head, but what she caught was that Tsui was definitely the fun kind of completely crazy.)

“I’m fine,” she says, trying to make it sound believable. Then sighs. “Just frustrated about being on the boat.”

“I don’t think we have enough spare coal to coat the ship.”

Toph laughs. “That sounds like a bad plan.”

“Chief Engineer Tsui would not be happy.” Azula says. There’s a hint of quiet laughter Toph’s sitting close enough to actually feel.

That reminds her. “By the way,” she starts. Azula’s laughter stills as she pays attention. “Why do you call them that?”

“That’s their name.” Azula sounds very confused. Which, fair.

Toph shakes her head. “No, I mean, why do you always call them ‘Chief Engineer’? You do that for practically everyone. Always use their title, I mean.”

Her friend is quiet. “Those are their names?” She doesn’t sound any less confused. “What else would I call them?”

“I dunno, how about just their name? Like calling the captain Jee. Saying Lieutenant Jee all the time is a mouthful. Seriously, I don’t know how you don’t get tired of saying Sub-Lieutenant Shika all the time either.” Toph throws her hands in the air in exasperation.

“I...it’s not polite? I’m not...it’s disrespectful to take a liberty when none was granted.”

Okay, that last part sounds like someone else’s words coming out of Azula’s mouth. And given that no one else on this ship has this hangup, Toph’s willing to bet this is less a Fire Nation Cultural Thing and more of an Azula Thing. Or more likely, an Azula’s Dad Thing.

Because the topic of the Fire Lord has come up before. How could it not, in the weeks they’ve known each other, when the entire reason her friend is called The Exile anyway is because of the man? The guy wasn’t exactly winning any parenting awards then, and it’s conversations like these that make Toph wonder how far down this can go. Toph isn’t exactly a stranger to the idea of terrible parents, even if her dad apologized. (And she’s still not quite sure what the hell she’s supposed to do with _that_.)

But even Poppy Beifong doesn’t go _that_ far in being a stickler for courtesy and etiquette. Toph’s pretty sure Mother wouldn’t be caught dead offering someone like Tsui that level of politeness anyway.

So either the Fire Lord has a bigger stick up his butt than Mother or there’s something else going on. She’d bet the latter, considering some of the other things she’s noticed. Like the way Azula’s cautious about what she says, like she’s had to think if she really wants to say the words. Or the way she goes a little stiff when someone moves a little too fast or comes a little too close. Toph’s grown up isolated, so she knows she’s not exactly an expert here, but she’s noticed how Azula tenses every time Toph grabs her hand or brushes against her arm or anything at all like that.

It’s weird. And sure, paranoia is a thing, but this is taking it to a whole new level.

(It also makes her feel a little guilty for getting close, which _sucks_ , because nights can get kind of cold and it’s not fair that Azula’s basically a walking furnace. What _else_ is she supposed to do?)

Toph’s aware that Azula is waiting for some kind of response. (Some people give themselves away in their little involuntary movements. She’s learning that Smoky here can create entire symphonies in her stillnesses.) “I guess? I know how to do all that proper etiquette, I just don’t want to. So maybe I’m the wrong person to talk. But I don’t think anyone here’s gonna care too much if you don’t use the full name and title? They’d probably be happy.”

“Happy?” Azula sounds super skeptical. “To be disrespected?”

“Well, no, that sounds dumb,” Toph allows. “But you just call me Toph. So, I dunno, it’s like a friendship thing? Maybe they’d see it that way? 

“They’re adults.”

Hm, point. “I dunno.” She shrugs. “Adults are weird.”

Any response gets cut off when a piercing whistle rings through the air. Toph’s blood runs cold. She’s been on this boat long enough to know that’s the emergency whistle, and the pattern is...

Somewhere off to the side of the ship, something crashes hard into the ocean.

...The whistle pattern is that they’re under attack.

“What the hell!” she hisses. “Where did that come from?!”

“Fog. They were waiting in the fog for us.” Azula gets up and shifts in front of where Toph is still sitting.

She knows why her friend did it. Azula has to. There’s no coal close enough for her to sense, just enough dust here and there left on the deck and on the walls to be annoyingly useless. For her to be annoyingly useless. And Toph _hates_ this fact so much. She doesn’t want anyone to have to protect her, doesn’t want to be that person, that burden. She’s spent so long fighting against being exactly that. But the boat is metal and she’s an Earthbender, and she can’t see a Spirits-damned thing.

The ship starts turning hard; they’re going to try to run but Toph has the terrible feeling that it’s not going to work this time. Just how foggy _is_ it? 

She scrambles to her feet. No way is she just gonna sit here like a helpless baby. “How bad is it?”

“It’s not good,” Azula growls. Her arm brushes against Toph’s hand, a clear invitation Toph takes. “Come on, we need to get to a better location.”

Yeah, good plan.

They start running across the deck, trying to avoid the obstacles Azula points out. A task that’s made infinitely harder when the ship jerks hard again, nearly throwing them off balance. “What?” Toph yells.

“There’s a second boat.” And that would be a note of alarm in Smoky’s voice.

“What?!” she yelps. But before she can come up with any kind of better actual response, Azula spins her around and _shoves_ her. Toph goes stumbling away, falls and slides until she crashes into a metal wall. _What the hell was that?_ Not cool, not cool at all.

The insults die on her tongue as she hears heavy thunks land close by, sounding way too much like metal landing on metal. Toph has a really bad feeling about this.

“Azula of the Caldera, how fortunate,” a man’s voice rings out. It’s not Smarmy; this one sounds way too professional. “We have your ship boarded and you’re surrounded. Surrender and you won’t be harmed.”

“Much,” another man says, sounding much crueler than the first.

Yeah, Toph’s learned to trust her bad feelings. In this case, it means that now they have enemies on board.

Smoky responds by throwing fire hot enough that even Toph feels it.

Things get very loud after that. There’s rushing heat and the thunk of boots against the deck. A (stray?) flame rushing near Toph’s head has her smelling singed hair and Azula snarling. She doesn’t know if they’re specifically aiming for her or if they’ve written her off as harmless.

Neither is a good thought. Neither of them is better than the other, because Toph knows Azula’s watching out for her. She can feel it when flames get just close enough to let her sense the heat, hear it in the other girl’s breathing getting more and more labored.

“Come on now. You can’t win, girl.”

Azula snarls, and it’s a cacophony of crackling flame and stomping feet again. Toph hears the smack of flesh on flesh, adult grunts of effort, and _hates_. Hates these soldiers, hates this fight, hates this boat, and hates her _weakness_. She’s been reduced to the one thing she never wanted to be, the one thing she swore she’d never be, that she raged at her parents for trying to turn her into. She has to be protected because she’s on a _metal boat_ and she’s _blind_.

Toph rages and is ignored because she’s not a threat. And it’s not even the wrong call on her enemies part because she isn’t. They have her marked and it’s correct and Toph has never felt so much anger in her life. Is this what it feels like to be a firebender? To have this burning pit inside of you that you just want to unleash and howl with all the hot anger that exists inside you? If it is, she can _almost_ understand the shitty Fire Nationals who aren’t part of this crew.

She slams her fist uselessly against the metal of the ship, venting anger and searching desperately for anything, some scrap of coal dust left from Koji’s drawings on the walls or the soles of boots from the engine room. There’s bits, small specks she can sense, but it’s not enough, not nearly enough coal to make a difference...

...wait.

The specks of coal aren’t really coal dust. They’re much, much too small, and they’re not on the surface of the metal. Toph frowns and focuses. No, the coal is...inside the metal?

(“It’s not iron,” Tsui drawls. “Ships made of pure iron would be way too heavy. That’s the secret the Earth Navy hasn’t figured out yet.”

Toph frowns. “So how do you do it? I know wood doesn’t stand a damn chance, and is stupid since you bend fire.”

The engineer laughs. “It’s steel. Good Fire Nation steel. Sometimes I’m amazed we figured it out first, considering the Earth Kingdom has all the materials naturally.”

“Huh?”

“Steel’s basically just iron, coal, and heat. We got the heat bit, but your people have the other two just laying around in the ground. Although heat’s the fun bit. See, you get all kinds of fun kinds of steel when you start mixing up how those three combine, especially the heat bit...”)

Coal from the earth. Iron from the earth. They say earthbenders can’t bend metal, they say it’s impossible. But if Toph listened to what authority said, she’d still be a pretty little doll in her parents’ estate. And she can feel the bits of coal in the metal. So she should be able to bend it.

She reaches out...

...and nothing happens.

It’s not enough. There’s not enough coal in the mix. Which makes sense. Steel is a metal. But there’s something else here. It’s not coal, it doesn’t feel the same. It doesn’t whisper the same long-dead secrets, doesn’t crack and splinter the same way as it forms the bones of the world. No, this is an older sound, a deep, long-forgotten history. It sings a song in a foreign tongue, an old, old one. Older than the dirt and the ground, older than the ancient dead things that rest in the rock.

Toph listens and starts to hear a song in one of oldest languages, one of the first songs ever sung as the world was born. She’s touching something no one else has, and the longer she listens, the more she understands the primordial thing that is resonating with her soul.

It’s not the coal. It’s the _iron_.

Toph can feel the iron, and it _sings_ to her.

There’s dark laughter and a yelp of pain too high-pitched and young to be an adult. 

_Smoky_.

Toph snarls, takes her rage and hate and seizes the iron’s song. She’s gonna be the greatest earthbender in the world and she is not going to sit here and be useless while her friend (first friend, only friend) fights for her. If she can hear the iron, she can force it to change. It’s all a matter of will. And if there’s anything that Toph Beifong has in excess, it’s _will_.

She grabs the iron and dares it to resonate instead to her will, bend to her whims like it has never done to anyone before. The iron is quite happy to comply.

Toph snarls, slams her hand against the metal, and does the impossible.

Four adult bodies on the deck. Six adults standing. One smaller body pushing up from a fall.

She can sense them. She can sense everyone on the ship. She’s _bending metal_.

The enemy soldiers are dumbfounded when the metal of the deck leaps up and snaps around their legs, Toph notes with vicious satisfaction.

“Smoky, you okay?”

Azula’s favoring one side, like she landed wrong. She’s not surprised when Azula croaks out a “Fine” and also doesn’t believe her in the slightest.

Toph remembers that yelp, remembers the adult laughter. And feels no guilt when she takes the metal around the men’s legs and pulls it tighter until the memory is drowned out by the snap of bone and the screams. Then she twists her wrist and the deck flexes and throws the men overboard before smoothing out like nothing ever happened.

The ship is fine. How did they get on — oh, there. Toph senses the metal cables that hooked themselves onto the railing. If she concentrates...yes, yes she can use that as enough of a connection to sense where the other ship is.

Close, as it turns out. And there are a bunch of soldiers looking to use those cables to try their luck against them.

There’s a crackling roar and the sharp smell of ozone. Azula’s in a rooted stance, arm extended and two fingers pointing at the other ship. The enemies on the other boat disappear for a moment from Toph’s sense, only to reappear suddenly as they slam into the deck, unmoving. If their hearts are beating at all, they’re erratic.

“That’s not where I was aiming.” Azula sounds way more intrigued than annoyed, so that sounds like something _fun_ to ask about once this large metal irritation is gone.

If Toph can use the cable to sense the other ship, there’s no reason why it’s not enough to do more. She grips the cable, breathes out, sinks into a horse stance, and pulls.

There’s a loud shriek of metal as an entire panel in the hull rips off.

Toph drops the cable in surprise, and she hears it fall into the ocean with a large splash. It’s kind of hard to tell over the sounds of panic coming from the enemy ship.

“Huh. That’s what that does,” she says, somewhat dazed as the events of the last five minutes slam into her. She just...she just did that. All of that. What the hell.

The metal under her feet hums happily to her.

“This is new?” Azula asks, and Toph snorts.

“Very new,” she says. (Smoky’s heart rate starts to settle down with that. Huh. Why now?)

Footsteps pound on the metal, but this time it’s Uncle running over to meet them. His heart is jumping all over the place. She guesses panic makes sense.They were just ambushed in the fog. “Azula! Toph! What happened?”

Toph grins. “So, apparently, I can metalbend now.”

—-

The sun dipped below the horizon hours ago, but the streets of Caldera City are still nearly stifling. It’s probably worse here in the Yūkaku District, Wen admits to herself wryly, considering all the people out on the streets themselves. The district is never _quiet_ , but it does awaken at night, meaning she has to dodge various entrepreneurs plying their trade and those seeking the kind of services they offer. It’s something Wen never really expected to become adept in, but the spirits work in mysterious ways.

Still, she makes it to the teahouse relatively unscathed. There’s a part of her that would have taken offense at the utter lack of interest she received on the way over (be it as a customer or a provider), but those days are long gone, praise the hearthflame. It does make the smile from the very pretty teahouse host work as excellent flattery. She’s not yet taken him up on the offer, despite the number of times she’s visited the establishment. That is not what she’s here for, although it doesn’t seem to stop him from trying. (She’s almost old enough to be his _mother_.)

He gives her another teasing smile when he bows deeply and leaves her at the door to the meeting room her contacts have once again commandeered. Wen straightens her shoulders and slips inside, only to stop in surprise at what she finds.

Unlike every other time she’s been here, the room has only one other occupant. Red is pacing like a wild animal, dark eyes shadowed with something terrible. Her pitch-black braids are coiled haphazardly, stray hairs escaping their ties as she runs a worried hand through her hair. The woman’s head snaps up when Wen closes the door behind her, causing the bells woven into the braids chime quietly. 

“Were you followed?” Red demands.

Wen frowns. “Not to my knowledge, no.” She continues, cutting Red off as soon as she opens her mouth. “I do know better than to take the same route. I work in the palace; stupidity and carelessness are death sentences.”

Red winces slightly and takes a seat on a cushion by the table. “Point taken.” She sighs. “Sorry, it’s...”

“We have a problem,” Wen guesses as she sits across from her.

Red nods. “To put it mildly, yes.”

Wen considers the woman sitting across from her. She is not delusional enough to consider them friends, by any stretch of the imagination. She doesn’t even know Red’s real name, although to be fair, Wen never shared hers either. Beyond that, Wen dislikes the slight entitlement the woman’s friends show at times, behaving as if the fact that Wen is “merely” a palace servant somehow puts her beneath those fortunate enough to go to one of the Academies and further their education. It’s a perception of unearned arrogance, that people like that get to play at understanding things better than those who lived through it. Red herself is not nearly as bad as some of her associates; Wen has the impression she actually knows what she’s talking about as it pertains to reality, for one.

It’s a damnation by association, really. Wen’s not too proud to admit that she is capable of such judgements. However, as she looks into the younger woman’s troubled gaze, she can’t be bothered to stoke the flame of that dislike. “What is it?”

“Tsuba’s gone rogue,” Red admits tiredly, naming one of her aforementioned associates. 

“Explain,” Wen snaps, sinking into the same voice she uses on careless servants.

It apparently works, as Red sits up straighter. “He said things were happening too slowly. That if we wanted radical change, we needed to seize the narrative, light the powder-keg to burn it all down in glorious revolution.”

She sounds disgusted. Wen is forced to agree with that assessment. It’s such talk that made her uncomfortable with the young academics who saw this as an exercise. As opposed to her actual life where actions had very real consequences. Revolutions were all well and good, but not when the harm would be carried by the already overburdened.

“What did he do?”

“Nothing, yet.” Red rubs her forehead. “But we’re going to have to go further underground. This won’t be safe anymore. Tsuba will kill himself before he gives up the rest of us, but...” She sighs again and looks up very intently at Wen, as if she could will her to accept her sincerity. “...I knew I needed to warn you. You’re the one who’s actually at the palace. Even if he doesn’t know your name, he knows what you look like.”

Wen feels cold all of a sudden. Her mouth goes dry. Still, she knows she needs to ask the better question. “What is he _going_ to do?”

Red’s face is a perfect portrait of bleak despair, of someone who knows a tragedy is brewing and is powerless to stop it. “Tsuba’s convinced himself that he needs to assassinate the Fire Lord.”

“Is he _insane_?” She hisses the question before she can think better of it. “It’s not going to...even if he succeeds it’s going to be _worse_.” Prince Zuko isn’t ready yet. He’s too young, too soft. The war ministers and the generals will eat him alive. 

“I know that,” Red hisses back. “He’d start a civil war. The thing I would, at least, very much prefer to _avoid_.”

This is why Wen distrusted the young academics, who saw this as a game. They go off and make stupid decisions that end up putting people like her in the crossfire. How many of her people are going to die because of this fool’s quest for glory?

“Why are you telling me this?” she asks. “I can’t move all of my people out to safety. Not without someone asking questions.”

The other woman nods grimly. “I know.” She looks away for a moment, seeming to gather herself together. “Do you remember what I said the first time you came here? That even if you turned us in, you wouldn’t get all of us?”

Wen does remember. It had sounded more threatening then. She narrows her eyes. “I do.”

Red smiles without mirth. “Tsuba went rogue. He might succeed, he might not. If you warn someone, he won’t, but it might save your neck.”

——-

Azula is running through the katas Sifu Rùfen showed her for the húdiédāo on the deck when Uncle Iroh finds her. She can feel his gaze on her back as she finishes the set, although he simply stands off to the side waiting. It’s nothing she’s not already used to; Honored Father would watch her lessons and training in much the same way. The difference happens when she finishes. Honored Father would always have a critique ready, some aspect of her performance that was subpar that she needed to fix. A hand out of place, a foot a degree off, not enough fire, too much fire, and never, ever fast enough. She could never perform it correctly, to his satisfaction. (It was worse when Former Fire Lord Azulon would watch. Honored Father would demand repetition until she got it right. Exhaustion was no excuse for lack of speed.)

The look Uncle Iroh gives her is different. He’s smiling, but he also looks sad. Azula knows what disappointment looks like. This isn’t it. She doesn’t know what it is, and so she doesn’t know what to expect. So she stands there, blades held loosely in a casual ready-position Sifu Rùfen had said was useful for looking non-threatening.

“You learned those sets so quickly,” he says quietly. “You were taught them a few days ago, yes?”

Two days, to be precise. Azula nods. She needs to be perfect at them. She’s already wasted so much time.

Uncle Iroh’s expression gets sadder. He must agree. Is this why Honored Father didn’t let her have friends? Because she has been wasting time “having fun” instead of training like she’s supposed to? Because she has to be perfect, has to be good enough to be worth something. And if a friend means she’s not, then what worth does she have? (Mai and Ty Lee don’t count. They’re Zuko’s friends. They just wanted her around for some reason. Of course Zuko needs friends. Azula doesn’t need friends. She can stand to be alone.) 

(But she doesn’t want to be? That’s a strange thought.)

“So quick,” Uncle Iroh murmurs, causing her to frown. “And I did see you bend lightning during the attack the other day, correct?”

Her frown grows, but she nods again anyway. She’s been bending lightning only for a few years. She knows she’s not very good yet. She could never meet Honored Father’s expectations, always finding some new way to fail to meet his standards. Bending lightning during the attack was stupid; she hasn’t been able to practice, has probably discovered even more ways to do it incorrectly.

Oh. Uncle Iroh can also bend lightning. That’s probably why he’s here. She should have realized this sooner, because of course he’d want to critique her, tell her all the ways she messed up. It’s the highest, most pure form of fire bending, and she disgraces it every time she tries. He has every right to tell her off. Azula’s only thankful that he’s not doing it in front of the entire crew.

“Azula,” Uncle Iroh asks, sounding very deliberate, “how long have you been able to bend lightning?”

She can’t meet his eyes. “Two years, Uncle Iroh. Since I was nine.” It’s a struggle to keep the shame out of her voice; she should have been able to do it when she was seven, when Honored Father first showed her, made her taste the power of the form.

When she looks up, Uncle Iroh’s eyes are wide. “Nine?” he whispers.“You bent lighting at _nine_?” She cringes. _Now_ he’s frowning. “Azula, what’s wrong?”

She can’t look at him, doesn’t want to see that same disappointment. It’s been...nice, to have Uncle Iroh looking at her the same way he looks at Zuko. It’s selfish, but she doesn’t want him to have a reason to stop. “I know,” she says softly. “I know I should have been able to do it sooner.”

“Sooner? What — Azula, that’s _extraordinary_.”

What?

Azula lifts her head and stares at him. Uncle Iroh’s expression is almost like confusion but also like shock. Which makes even less sense, because he just called what she did extraordinary. Azula’s never been extraordinary in her life. (At least, not anything other than an extraordinary failure.)

“You don’t think so?” he asks.

All she can do is shake her head, 

Uncle Iroh frowns slightly as he crouches down. “Can you explain why?” His tone is oddly soft, almost gentle.

“Honored Father showed me lightning when I was seven,” she says quietly. She’s glad for the scarf again, although she wishes she could hide her entire face right now. Her hand circles her forearm, unconsciously rubbing over the scars that exist under her shirt. Scars from that first taste. “I couldn’t get it right away. Honored Father tried to help, but I still had trouble. I still keep doing it incorrectly.”

He’s focused on her arm, where her hand is. She stills. “Niece,” he says calmly, “does your arm hurt?”

She shakes her head. No, of course not. And even if it did, what would it matter? She’s still functioning. Her hand drops. 

Uncle Iroh catches it instead, and grips her arm in a loose hold. She could break it easily. For some reason, she doesn’t want to. “Can I see?” he asks, still sounding so very calm.

There’s nothing wrong with her arm. Why does he want to see it? Curious, she nods. Gently, he rolls up her sleeve. Her arm looks like it always does, slightly pale from being covered, but not wrong. It has no open wounds, just the scars from various burns from training, including the delicate ones that look like a branching tree that crawls up her arm.

Azula looks up at Uncle Iroh and frowns. He looks...blank. Expressionless. It’s a strange look on him, because he always seems so lively. Never like this. (Is this who he was before Lu died? She doesn’t remember Uncle Iroh well from before then. She knows he was a very successful general, that’s why he was disgraced when he gave up Ba Sing Se. But Lu was warm, like the fire in her bedroom, said his father was like that too. This man before her now is not.)

She doesn’t know what she should say.

“How did you get this scar?” Uncle Iroh asks. His voice is still oddly calm, oddly soft. It doesn’t seem to fit with how still and blank he is.

And she doesn’t really understand the question either. He should know what a lightning scar looks like. “From lightning?”

He shakes his head. “This isn’t from a loss of control or a backlash. It doesn’t start from your fingers.”

She’s so confused. “I said, Honored Father tried to help. He said I needed to feel it in order to wield it.”

Uncle Iroh stares at her arm a little while longer before he takes a deep breath and exhales. He gently rolls her sleeve back down and releases her arm before closing his eyes for a moment. “Thank you, Azula.”

She’s not sure what she even did, so she doesn’t say anything. (Maybe this will start making sense soon?)

He stands up, eyes still shut, and he’s still breathing deeply. Finally, he opens his eyes and stops looking so very blank. Instead, he’s looking at her with a kind of warmth that seems so very familiar. Her heart twists a little, because Lu used to give her the same look. (Oh. _This_ is Lu’s Father.)

“I do know some techniques, Niece, that your...Father...doesn’t. Would you like to learn them?” he asks, now with a smile.

Azula’s eyes widen. Lu used to tell her how his father was a good teacher, the best teacher even. It’s enough that Uncle Iroh is teaching her Court Huǒzi. Now he’s offering to teach her firebending? Including lightning techniques? _Her_?

She nods, not trusting her own voice.

Uncle Iroh’s smile grows wider. “Excellent. I’ll have to talk with Jee about stopping somewhere. What I want to teach you will be so much safer on land.” Before Azula can say anything to that, he continues. “Now, I saw Miss Beifong earlier down near the komodo-rhino pens. Perhaps you can rescue Fai from her?”

Toph? With the komodo-rhinos? Azula doesn’t need to be told twice and takes off to the lower decks. Sure enough, she finds Toph right outside the pens. Sailor Fai is blocking the door, which is actually quite brave of him considering the door, like the entire ship, is made of metal.

Toph turns at her approach. “Smoky! There are komodo-rhinos here. How could you keep this from me?”

Azula doesn’t understand the question. “I showed you where they were on the first day.”

“Not the point!”

This is not any more enlightening. “Then, what is the point?”

“The point,” Toph says firmly, “is that there are komodo-rhinos and _Fai_ over here is in-charge of them. I could have had one helping me navigate this stupid hunk of metal this _entire time_.”

“The corridors aren’t big enough. I’ve told you this.” Sailor Fai sounds very tired and very stressed. Although from what she knows of him, the latter is somewhat normal. The komodo-rhinos, however, seem to like him. She wonders if they can sense his distress.

“I can fix that problem now!”

“But...now you don’t need one of them to help you navigate!” he says.

“So?” Toph folds her arms across her chest.

Actually, it would be very bad if they can sense his distress. Azula doesn’t want to test this. “Toph, Chief Engineer Tsui would probably be very displeased to find that you widened their corridors for a komodo-rhino pet.”

Toph scowls, then shrugs. “Okay, you have a point there.” She turns to Fai. “You’re off the hook this time, buddy.”

“Great. Can you please leave now?” he begs. Azula’s pretty sure that was begging.

“Fine,” Toph sighs and starts walking away. She follows, figuring that’s the best plan at the moment.

“You really wanted a komodo-rhino?” she asks.

Toph snorts and shakes her head. “Heck no. I just wanted to mess with him. Seriously, being able to know where I”m going? Totally underrated and I’m ashamed I didn’t realize it earlier.”

Right, the metalbending. “So the metalbending is useful?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe. I hate this boat a lot less now. In fact, I might even like it.”

Azula nods. “That’s...good.” She thinks it is, at least.

“Oh yeah. Not running into the walls is always a positive.” Toph grins as she leads them to their quarters (previously Azula’s quarters).

Azula makes a noncommittal noise. It’s sometimes safer.

She opens the door to their quarters and then stands in the corner, not quite knowing what to do next. It’s too early for sleep, and she doesn’t have any other work required of her. She’s somewhat at a loss as she watches Toph wander unerringly around the room. 

Azula then realizes she still has her húdiédāo (Lu’s húdiédāo) and moves to go put them away. Perhaps changing out of her training clothing would also not be remiss. But first she places the blades carefully in their case so they rest safely on their bed of silk. (Lu can’t take care of them now, so she’ll have to do it for him. She hopes he doesn’t mind.)

Toph, meanwhile, unerringly moves to the desk. She makes a noise of triumph, which makes Azula lift her head. “Smoky, you never told me about your candy stash. I thought we were friends.”

Azula’s stomach twists in a knot. Are they not friends? What candy stash? “I don’t have one?”

Toph looks incredibly skeptical. “Then what’s this?” She holds out the bag that had been left on the bed all those months ago, when Azula first was assigned the room.

She feels the tension leave her shoulders a bit. “Oh. That’s not mine.”

“It’s not?”

“No. It was left on the bed when I was assigned to these quarters,” she explains. “No one’s come to claim it, though.”

Toph just stands there. Azula gets the distinct impression she said something wrong. Except she doesn’t know what it is. She goes over the conversation again in her head and draws a blank.

“Smoky,” Toph says slowly, “you...do know someone gave this to you as a gift, right?”

First Uncle Iroh, now Toph. This day is not making any sense. “What? No one gave it to me. I don’t know who left it.”

“Yeah, so I’m no expert in this, but I’m pretty sure this?” She holds out the bag. “Was a gift. Anonymous gift, but still a gift.”

“But... _why_?” Azula knows she sounds slightly desperate, but she can’t help it. Nothing is making sense, and there’s too many context clues she’s apparently missing and if Toph’s right, how _dumb_ is she for not realizing this for months?

Toph shrugs unhelpfully. “I dunno. Maybe they thought you’d like it?” She pauses. “You do like candy, right?”

“I...think so.”

“You _think_ so?”

Azula scowls. “I haven’t eaten many types. I don’t know if I like that.”

“Aren’t you a princess? Or you were a princess? Couldn’t you get, like, anything you wanted?” Toph sounds genuinely curious.

No, that’s Zuko. She only received what she required. “No. It wasn’t necessary for me,” she explains. “Honored Father said I didn’t need it. Only what was required.”

“Why do you call him that?” Toph flops down onto the floor across from her, bag still in hand. “You said you use titles because it’s a respect thing. But he’s your dad.”

“Honored Father is Honored Father,” Azula answers, honestly baffled by the question. He’s never been ‘Dad’. “What else am I supposed to call him?”

Toph is quiet for a bit. She tilts her head towards her, and if she weren’t blind, Azula would swear she’s being analyzed. “I don’t know,” Toph finally admits. “But from what I’ve heard? He doesn’t really deserve that kind of respect from you.”

It sounds so very wrong, like every fiber of her being should rebel against the very suggestion. But somehow, it sounds not-wrong at the same time. He’s not...Azula knows he’s not infallible. The Southern Air Temple suggested he might be wrong about certain things. But what are those things? What are the things that are his will but are not law? 

(Because she can disobey him. Zuko...he’s the one who cannot be wrong.) (Listen to Zuko.) 

And if he was wrong about the Air Nomads, what else is he wrong about?

She remembers Lu’s angry-sad looks when she would tell him about her progress. There are all the expressions from Uncle Iroh when she explains things. Ones where he goes so still and burns so hot that she’s afraid she did something terrible, but then he’s oddly gentle with her. The ones where it looks like she’s stunned him and doesn’t know how she did it (because that would be such a useful trick, if she can apply it to other people. Less useful if it’s just Uncle Iroh).

And now there’s Toph, with her raised eyebrows and questions Azula doesn’t know how to answer. But she wants to? She wants to tell her it’s all right, that she’s fine. She doesn’t want Toph to get hurt, and what does that even mean when talking about herself can hurt her...friend? That’s what Toph is, right? She’s a friend.

Lu. Uncle Iroh. Toph.

All of them making things blurry. All of them leading her to a question she doesn’t dare voice out loud. (Speaking it makes it real)

If Honored Father can be wrong about things, then...can he be wrong about her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. That is not a typo in the chapter numbers. The next chapter is planned to be the last for _the sun don't shine underground_ , which is Book 1 of _salt & ashes_. After will be a timeskip to Book 2, which starts when canon does.
> 
> 2\. OldWorldVulture made art! Go [look](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26368513) and coo over how smol this murderchild is.


	8. and i smile like the devil smiles (unseen but proud)

Iroh doesn’t know if he’s arrogant enough to call himself a patient man. In his youth, he certainly was not. One does not earn the name “Dragon of the West” with _patience_. (No matter the actual truth of the tale.) Now, after years of being tempered, of having hard lessons hammered in, he still doesn’t know if he would call himself a patient man. The label seems more fitting for men to whom patience comes naturally, who can sit as still as the earth or as calm as the waters.

Iroh has always had far too much fire inside to consider himself patient. He still burns hot, perhaps even hotter than he did as a younger man. He still has to bank those fires, keep them from burning wild. And even if his anger is slower to light these days, when it burns it blazes like dragon fire.

He is not a patient man by nature, but he needs to force himself to learn it now more than ever. Because the target of his anger is half a world away, and he’ll be damned if he lashes out on those who don’t deserve it.

When he saw those tell-tale lightning scars on his niece’s arm, scars that branched in _the wrong direction_ to have come from a backlash, that could have only come from being hit by lightning, Iroh knew what had happened before she explained. He knew what his brother had done in the name of “training”. 

All his brother’s sins are carved in flesh.

If he could, he’d fly to the Royal Palace and take every one of them back out of Ozai’s own skin.

He very nearly did when he realized that his brother had so twisted his poor niece’s mind, had sunk his claws in deep enough to rend her very sense of self. She told him she had bent lighting at age nine. A feat no one has ever managed before, and Ozai has made her believe she is _inadequate_ because she didn’t do the impossible sooner.

Iroh sits in his quarters with a pot of cloud tea and considers his options. He knows this is a complex problem, knows he’s barely seen the surface of it. But he’s peeled back enough layers to see he needs to tread carefully with his niece. He cannot afford — _she_ cannot afford — a misstep, a careless word or action that could undo what precious little rebuilding of self she’s managed. 

He needs help, and he knows that the most reasonable person to ask is the corporal who has been teaching Azula bladework and unorthodox firebending. Iroh has seen the way the woman handles his niece, how she mixes strict discipline with freely-given praise when earned, a combination that the girl seems to thrive under. And he cannot forget the honest concern and worry that effectively bled off of her when they had been attacked by Zhao all those weeks ago.

The issue at hand is that Iroh doesn’t really know Corporal Rùfen at all. He certainly doesn’t know why the woman has all but gone out of her way to avoid interacting with him this entire time. She, like most of the crew, had engaged in the silent, cold glares in the beginning.. (Now that he knows the reason behind those judging looks, he really cannot fault them.) But the cool looks and general aloofness have continued.

Normally, he’d be content to let it go. Gone are the days when he agonized over the opinions of most people, caring only for the select few he gathered close to himself. He would not have survived in the days and weeks after retreating from Ba Sing Se if he couldn’t do that. The problem is that he can’t let it go, not when he requires the woman’s assistance in order to help his niece. 

Well then. That settles it, now doesn’t it?

This will require more tea. Iroh finishes his cup and considers before choosing some of his limited supply of dragonwell. The conversation he must have will most likely be difficult; serving the fine tea can only make it easier. Or at least more pleasant. Thus armed with tea and pot, he heads to the mess.

The place is mostly empty, which is unsurprising for midafternoon. Koji nods a greeting as he prepares the evening meal. Iroh refills the teapot and settles at a table near the back. He knows the corporal will be off-duty soon, and will come in search of food sooner rather than later.

He doesn’t have to wait long. A few crew have entered the mess before Corporal Rùfen, but not so many that the conversation cannot be private. He’s hoping that will be enough to ease the wariness and paranoia. (Traits that were unsurprising, really, after he spoke with Jee and learned the woman’s reputation. And how many suicide missions she’s been given in the last three years.) 

“Corporal,” he calls as the woman walks past his table.

She stops and stiffly turns towards him, dark eyes sharp and piercing. (So dark they’re almost black. So very odd for a firebender.) (He’s seen eyes like that before, somewhere. Warmer, he thinks. He can’t remember where.) 

“General Iroh.” Her tone is perfectly polite and perfectly without inflection.

“Might I have a word with you?”

Corporal Rùfen’s face smooths out into a blank mask. It reminds him of his niece, honestly. “It will have to be some other time.”

Iroh sighs, and gestures to the teapot and cups. “Please, I was hoping I would be able to share a cup of tea with you as we discuss a certain matter.”

Refusing an invitation like that, when he’s not only the elder but also very much her social superior, would be unthinkably rude. And although the corporal is cool to him, she has been unfailingly polite and professional. He didn’t want to do it this way, but he’s effectively trapped her in social convention. And she knows it, judging from the twitching muscle in her jaw. 

She bows and takes a seat stiffly, a sharp contrast to her usual fluid grace (why is this familiar?). “You honor me, elder,” she bites out, trying not to speak through clenched teeth.

Iroh reaches for the teapot but the corporal beats him to it with a glare. Apparently, she is also going to wield social convention as a weapon. He supposes that’s fair. She continues glaring as she pours him and then herself a cup of tea. 

He takes a sip. “I wished to speak with you regarding Azula.”

The woman’s gaze sharpens and something flashes in her eyes. “What is it?” 

“I need to discuss some training issues with you.”

“Is there a problem with my methods or her performance?” the corporal asks bluntly.

“What? No, no nothing like that. Far from it,” he says, sighing. “No, the training issues I need to discuss with you are what habits you’ve needed to correct.”

She frowns. “Technically speaking, sir? Not many. She’s a quick study, and I’ve seen textbooks with katas less accurate than her.” She picks up the cup but doesn’t drink.. “Works hard, listens well, takes things seriously. Technically speaking, she’s the perfect student.”

“And...not technically speaking?” he probes.

Corporal Rùfen stays silent.

“Corporal,” Iroh starts, then pauses, considering carefully how he wants to approach this. She keeps the cup in her hands, still untouched, and keeps a polite expression on her face. He can see the wariness in her eyes, though, watching him as if he were a predator. Or as if she is. This is clearly a dance between them, with feints and parries of courtesies and traditions, a battle of manners and etiquette. He could engage in this battle; he’d win it too. He grew up in the Palace. The corporal has some knowledge — an impressive amount for someone with no noble background — but the end result would be inevitable. 

And he’s certain she knows it too. Yet here she is, still engaging.

Honesty, then, might be the best. “I have some...concerns,” he says delicately and receives a flat look in return, silently demanding more information. “I’ve noticed some things. I wanted to get your opinion and insight.”

Corporal Rùfen sets her cup back down and folds her hands on the table. (Places them where he can see them. Is she simply trying to be comfortable or is she following the old tradition, showing that she has no weapon in hand, and if she means to bend he’ll have ample opportunity to see it coming?) “Such as?”

“I fear that my niece has a somewhat skewed perception of herself.” He pours himself some more tea and decides how he wants to say this. “You’re aware she bent lightning during the skirmish a few days ago? I asked her about it, specifically how long she’s been able to do it.”

Iroh takes a sip to calm himself. Just thinking about that conversation again stokes the embers of his fury into a bonfire again. Anger will do him no good here, not when he has captured the corporal’s attention so thoroughly. Anger can be misconstrued, misdirected. Anger needs to be leashed, lest it raze the same ambitions it fuels. (Something his father never learned.) 

“Nine, for the record,” he continues with a false calm. The woman across from him stares at him with (those strangely familiar) dark eyes that he’s certain could cut deeper than any blade. “She apologized for not being able to do it sooner.”

“Not being able to do it sooner,” she repeats in a low growl.

‘I’m sorry, Azula’ he offers mentally, because while these are not his secrets to share, Iroh knows he needs to divulge them now. “She has scars. Apparently, her...instructor...determined a hands-on demonstration of lightning-bending was...proper motivation.”

The corporal is very, very still. (He imagines a komodo-panther on the hunt, when its tail stops lashing and it becomes all coiled energy and impending violence.) Then he notices the metal table starting to faintly glow underneath the woman’s hands. Her fingers curl into claws, and Iroh has no doubt the table will soon have a permanent feature.

“ _Who_?” Corporal Rùfen’s voice is rough.

“I think you know the answer to that, Corporal.”

The polite mask shatters as she snarls, shoving away from the table and turning. Her breath is barely under control, sparks flying from her mouth with each deep exhale. He sees the rage that’s been bubbling just underneath her skin whenever she looks at him finally slip its leash, just for a second before she wrestles it back under control.

She does not, however, leave. Instead, when she turns back, she does not bother slipping back under social convention either. No, now she stares at him with eyes no longer cold, but burning with the fury she’s hidden all this time. “Let me be clear, General. _I don’t like you_ ,” she growls out. “I was at Ba Sing Se for six hundred days and it cost me _everything_. And both are because of you and I have _nothing_ to show for it.”

It always comes back to that cursed city, doesn’t it? At least she can’t be a true believer; she wouldn’t be on this ship if she were. But if she was there — and he doesn’t have reason to doubt her — then she knows how terrible it had really been. The seemingly endless misery that was six hundred days of throwing themselves at walls that would not fall, all while stones and oil rained down on them from above. She knows, and Iroh can understand a soldier’s bitterness better than that of a general on the other side of the world.

“I know,” he says tiredly, “how you must feel —”

“ _You know nothing_ ,” she interrupts, flames leaking from her lips. “You have _no_ idea and you don’t even _know_. But for the sake of _my student_ , I’m not going to let you finish that sentence, _General_.”

Iroh stiffens. He’s retired. He’s banished and exiled, and this is not his command, but he is still the Dragon of the West, and he will not allow this kind of disrespect. Not from a mere footsoldier. “Careful, corporal,” he warns. “I can ignore many things, but I will not allow my son’s death to be reduced to nothing.”

Her eyes flash. “I’m not the one who did that.”

Fury roars in his mind and Corporal Rùfen has to roll out of the way to avoid the flame aimed at her head. Distantly, he hears the clattering of dishes from nearby tables, and Koji’s yelp of alarm from the kitchen. “How dare you,” he says through clenched teeth.

The woman rolls smoothly to her feet and glares. “ _Nezha_ ,” she hisses.

The name throws him. He knows that name. Of course he does. How could he not know the name of his son’s second? The man who might have been his son’s best friend, if not for the difference in their social classes. The man who was all but glued to Lu Ten’s side for that entire bloody siege, watching his son’s back and keeping him alive day after day. All except that terrible, final day.

Because he had died the day before.

Iroh has spent many sleepless nights wondering over ‘what ifs”. Would Lu Ten be alive if he had not gone out with a loss like that still fresh? Would his son be alive if Iroh had refused to let that squad go out without a suitable replacement? What if he hadn’t indulged his son’s desire for revenge? What if he’d been assigned to a different position the day before? Would any of it have made a difference?

He looks at the seething woman in front of him and feels the fury go cold. That’s why her eyes seem so very familiar. He’s seen them before, in Nezha’s face. And now that he sees that, he sees other similarities. They have the same jawline, the same build. He remembers the fluid way that the man moved, all coiled violence and languid grace.

(Spirits, he’s been watching the corporal teach Azula the man’s _combat styles_ , techniques he’d seen Lu Ten practice and perform time and time again.)

“How?” he wonders. How does she know that name? How are they related? Because of course they are, they couldn’t not be.

Corporal Rùfen’s glare does not ease up. “He’s my brother.”

How did she even end up on this ship? Iroh closes his eyes and finds another reason to curse Ozai to Koh’s domain. Because _of course_ this is not a coincidence. _Of course_ his brother would have seen the connection between them and wouldn’t be able to resist twisting the knife. Trapping him on a ship with the sister of the man who could have kept his son alive is the kind of casual, efficient cruelty his brother excels at.

He hates that it’s effective.

Iroh sits down heavily. After a moment, she follows and retakes her seat. He doesn’t want to deal with this. Doesn’t want to acknowledge the effectiveness of his brother’s design, doesn’t want to admit to the hurt. (Slowly, the rest of the room settles down, carefully watching their table in the specific way that makes it seem like they are not.)

He breathes in deeply. It’s not the right time. This is a scab that has been opened, but Iroh cannot afford to lick his own wounds right now. He cannot let himself be blinded by his own problems and hurts. Not again. Not when he needs to put his niece first this time.

He promised to do better by her. That means not falling into the trap of letting his own hurts consume all his attention, snuffing out his awareness of all other problems. (Not falling into old habits.)

“My brother,” Iroh admits quietly, “is very good at inflicting invisible wounds. Azula, I think, shows more than a few signs of carrying deep hurts that have never been allowed to heal. I cannot fix these hurts alone.”

Corporal Rùfen’s cup of tea is still sitting on the table. She picks it up again and stares at him for a long time. Then she brings the cup to her lips and drinks the entire thing.

She places the empty cup down, and taps the table with two fingers. He raises an eyebrow at the peace offering.

“Tell me what else you’ve seen,” she says.

Iroh pours them both more tea. 

—-

Zuko paces furiously in the secret not-a-hideout as Mai and Ty Lee exchange concerned glances. It’s been a very...something day, and he just needs time to process everything. But that seems to be the one thing he can’t get, because everything has to happen at once.

Also he thinks he’s pretty forgiven in being stressed over _assassination_ attempts. He’s so very grateful that his gamble to ask Wen about rumors she’d heard paid off so quickly, of course he is. There’d already been an attack against Azula, which is what started this whole mess. Now their enemies were going after Father directly. Were they getting bolder? Desperate? How soon until he would have to worry about waking up with a knife in his throat? Or...not waking up. That’s how that went.

Zuko pulls at his hair.

“That’s it,” Mai declares, stepping right into his path. He’s surprised enough that he stops dead, and because Mai is Mai, she grabs him by the shoulders and forces him to sit down.

Was that chair there the whole time?

“Zuko, what’s going on?” Ty Lee asks. “The entire palace is on edge and I’ve _never_ seen your aura this grey.”

He blinks, then mentally translates. (The aura thing is new for Ty Lee, and it’s taking some getting used to, but it almost-sort-of makes sense? If he stands on his head and squints.) “Sorry,” he mutters, rubbing at his face with his palms. “It’s been...a lot lately.”

“So tell us,” she implores. Mai just gives him a look that tells him to start talking.

“There was an assassination attempt, on Father,” he admits. Ty Lee’s eyes are wide, so he quickly continues. “He’s fine! They captured the assassin before he could do anything.”

“Do you know who was behind it?” Mai asks.

Zuko shakes his head. “He died. Poison. He took it before he even got to the palace.”

Mai presses her lips together in a thin line. “That’s...convenient.”

“For them, yeah,” he mutters. “If he’d actually succeeded...” No, don’t think about that. Safe. Father is _safe_. (Father is all he has left here and he doesn’t want to be alone.) He shakes his head. “If I hadn’t been able to warn the guards...”

“Zuko! You saw the assassin?” Ty Lee looks absolutely stricken.

“No! No, no,” he rushes to reassure her. “I, uh, got a tip. About the plot.”

“A tip.” Did Mai have to sound so skeptical?

“I have sources!” he defends.

Mai just raises an eyebrow.

He’d wanted to escort Wen to Father himself, so she could get the recognition for possibly (now certainly) saving the Fire Lord’s life. But she’d demured, saying she’d be useless to him afterwards. Which, okay, point. And that also probably meant not telling anyone else.

Zuko really hopes they don’t ask how his source got the information. Explaining that his source had overheard it in a _teahouse_ of all things to Father was...not something he wanted to have to go through again. Ever. As long as the sun shone.

But because apparently the spirits _hate_ him, Ty Lee didn’t get the memo. “Well, how did they find out? Maybe there’s a clue there.”

He can _feel_ the blood rushing to his face as he tries to look anywhere except right at them. “Uh, they apparently overheard it.” Ty Lee just looks encouragingly at him. Flame and ashes, if his face gets any hotter, he’s going to start steaming. “At, um, a teahouse.”

Mai frowns. “Why are you acting like that?”

“A _teahouse_ ,” he stresses. “As in teahouse.”

Her cheeks faintly color. “ _Oh_.”

Ty Lee slaps a hand over her mouth to muffle the giggles, but her eyes aren’t anything other than wickedly delighted. He groans and buries his head in his hands. “This wasn’t easier the second time,” he mutters.

“The _second_ time? Zuko, what did you do, have to tell your Father?” Mai asks. Zuko groans louder and Ty Lee just gives up on giggling entirely, flat-out laughing at him.

Eventually, he thinks he’s got his blush under control enough to show his face again. “Anyway,” he says loudly. (Ty Lee manages to stop laughing) “Father says it can fit with what they found out from the body. They’re pretty sure he was a student or academic.”

Mai’s gaze sharpens. “Someone with money. Or nobility, you mean.”

Zuko nods.

Her expression is grim. “You know what I’m about to say.”

He nods miserably, because he does. He wishes he didn’t but he does. Because it fits with the pieces they’ve found already. Because Uncle — General-Prince Iroh — Uncle gaining support for a bid for the throne made no sense if he was banished, if he was getting support in the colonies.

But now? When he’s been all but declared a traitor? Now when noble sons are turning into assassins? It means the nobility is discontent enough to risk that. How much more would it really take for them to support a traitor?

(A voice in the back of his mind whispers that it’s a message. Uncle has Azula. He’d know about the assassination attempt on her. Now one comes for Father. Is she safe with him? Would Zuko ever even know?) (He doesn’t want to listen, doesn’t want to think this. It feels wrong, feels like a betrayal. It _is_ a betrayal, but who’s betraying who?)

“I want her _home_ ,” he whispers. He can admit that here, in this place in the palace that doesn’t exist, hidden in the walls. He can admit it to Mai and to Ty Lee, because he knows they don’t have to ask. They want it too. (It’s the four of them against the world.) “I want her home and I can’t trust him anymore.”

Thin, strong arms circle his shoulders in a fierce hug. Zuko didn’t even know Ty Lee moved. She doesn’t say anything, but that’s fine because he suddenly realizes he needed this. The last few months (spirits has it almost been a year?) have been hard. They’re worse than the months after Mother...went away.

And he knows he’s about to make it even harder for himself.

“Ty Lee?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you remember when we went to see Taiyō no Sākasu? And you said you wished you could stay?”

“Of course. How could I forget?” She frowns. “What’s this about?”

“Have you thought about it? Seriously?”

“Zuko, it sounds like you want me to run away and join the circus,” Ty Lee says with a weak laugh.

“I do. I think you should run away and join the circus.”

Her arms drop from his shoulders as Ty Lee takes a step back and stares at him. Mai stares at him. Honestly, he’d probably stare at himself if he could. He thinks about what he just said, then blanches as Ty Lee’s eyes go a bit glassy.

“No no no no,” he says desperately. “I didn’t mean it like that! Ugh.” Zuko scrubs his face hard. “It’s just...you loved it the other night, and you’re just as good or better than all of them, and...I want you to be happy.”

“Zuko.” Mai’s voice is as hard and sharp as the knives he knows are hidden up her sleeves. “Explain where the hell this came from.”

Spirits, why is this so hard? He stares at his hands. “It’s...like I said. I can’t trust Uncle anymore.” He looks up at Ty Lee and _wills_ her to understand. “But I can trust _you_.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “Taiyō no Sākasu _travels_. To the _colonies_.” She gets it. He nearly wants to cry because she _gets_ where he’s going with this. “Zuko, I can’t...Azula isn’t the type to go to a circus, even if she wasn’t...away.”

“I know. One in a million shot, right? But it’s better than here. And maybe you’ll hear something. I know, and it’s a big ask, but...I _saw_ you, Ty Lee.”

She’s quiet. He spares a glance at Mai, and she’s staring intently at their friend as well. (Which he’s going to count as an improvement over trying to murder him with her eyeballs.) Because Mai knows not only how much Ty Lee wants this, but how much she needs it too. 

“I’d be leaving you. What kind of friend would I be?” Ty Lee’s voice is barely louder than a whisper.

Zuko knows his smile is wobbly, but he gives her the best one he has anyway. “The best. It’s not like it’d be forever.”

This time, Ty Lee’s hug includes him and Mai as well. “I’ll write,” she promises. “I’ll write so many letters. Anything, everything I can.” She sniffles, then draws back to look at them with a mock-stern expression. “You two better not have too much fun without me.”

“Says the girl joining a circus,” Mai drawls.

He’d laugh. He should laugh. But he can’t, not yet, because he isn’t done making life harder for himself, and of course his friends notice he didn’t laugh. They’re looking at him with those expressions that scream that they know he knows something and they’re concerned because he’s not acting like himself.

(When was the last time he acted like himself?) (Did that self vanish from the palace the same day his sister did?)

Zuko sighs. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, it’s not official at all, but...some of the colonies need new governors.” Who knew one ship could be so busy? Or effective in uncovering all kinds of corruption in colonial leadership. It’s been a _mess_. “Mai...your father’s on the short list.”

Mai goes so very still.

Ty Lee looks between them, then asks the really important question. “How...likely is it?”

He winces. “He’s...near the top of the short list.”

“I suppose he’ll be pleased to hear it then,” Mai says dully. She doesn’t move a muscle, but Zuko knows she’s folding in on herself, checking those fortress walls around herself that she keeps so damn high. (Four of them against the world, and they’re all going to have to go alone.) “Thanks for the warning.”

“Zuko, I...you’ll be by yourself,” Ty Lee says. He’s glad she didn’t immediately say she’d stay behind too. That makes it easier.

He offers her a smile. “I’ll be fine. And it’s not set in stone.” Just...really damn likely.

Mai gives him a look, then sighs. “I guess I should expect to be writing letters too. Great.”

“You don’t have to,” he tries. She just rolls her eyes at him. Yeah, he had that coming.

They’ll figure this out. It’s better, they’ll make it work. Their own little information network. 

And his friends will be _safe_. Zuko won’t have to worry about somebody using them or threatening them just to get at him. He knows his friendship with the two of them is no secret. He also knows that there are some members of the Court who have been asking questions about it. Because he’s the Crown Prince and a teenager and they’re going to read things into his friendship with two teenage girls. Things that aren’t true, things that could damage their reputation and paint a target on their backs. (Not that Mai and Ty Lee aren’t pretty. He’s not dead. But they’re his friends, and if he were a dragon, he’d coil around them both because he can’t see them get hurt.) (He’s under no delusion that they’re _his_. He can’t own them, no one can. But he’ll try to protect them from the things they can’t fight off. Even if that means letting them fly out of his reach.)

Later, after Mai and Ty Lee leave, after dinner with Father, Zuko finds himself in his rooms, staring once again at a small scroll and a set of blue hair ribbons. He’s pretty sure he’s memorized the feeling of every inch of them. They’re so small, so meager. He feels like he’s slicing pieces of himself off, carving parts away to save them and to save himself.

Father told him the rogue ship sunk two ships, both larger than it. Zuko wonders if Azula fought, if she was made to fight. Or if someone (if Uncle) remembered his baby sister is eleven (almost twelve, oh spirits, her _birthday_ ) and tucked her safely away somewhere. Was she scared? Was she hoping they’d rescue her?

Mom told him to watch out for Azula, and it’s the only thing he wants to get right. Father looked grim when he told Zuko the news. Zuko wants to be sick, because his little sister is getting dragged into warzones, so clearly none of the adults on that boat give a damn. She’s a means to an end and he can’t take it anymore.

He throws himself onto the bed and screams into a pillow in frustration. (The guards are jumpy enough. He doesn’t need more complications, thanks.)

Zuko needs to get Azula home. He needs to get her away from that damn ship. He needs to get her away from Uncle. Except Zuko isn’t a master firebender; he’s not even _close_ to being a master firebender. Uncle would eat him alive in an Agni Kai.

(He needs to stop thinking that. Not Uncle. He can’t be Uncle. Uncle is laughter and warm smiles and tea and Pai Sho on rainy days. This man who has his sister is not Uncle.)

He rolls over onto his back and stares at the twin dao swords hanging on the sword rack by the opposite wall. Then he sits up abruptly.

Who said this had to be an Agni Kai?

Zuko pads over to the sword rack and grabs both blades before sitting on the floor. Carefully, he takes the blue hair ribbons and starts wrapping the hilts. It’s not enough to change the grip, but it’s enough to be a _promise_. 

Because while Zuko isn’t a master firebender, General-Prince Iroh is not a master swordsman.

And that? That’s something Zuko can be.

——

Jian sits in the infirmary, bored out of his mind. Having a broken leg is bad enough, but having a broken leg while on a boat? He’s pretty sure he’s discovered some new kind of hell. The worst part is that they’re currently docked, and he’s still here. Mostly because if he went out and had a drink (or more) like he wants to, there’s an excellent chance he’d never make it back to the ship.

Discovering if having a broken leg while stranded in nominally-hostile territory is worse is _not_ on his to-do list. (And for all they’re exiled from the Fire Nation, Jian’s not going to kid himself that he can pass for anything but. He might not have the amber eyes of a firebender, but his bone structure just screams his ancestry.)

So instead of hobbling and moping about on the deck in the sun, he’s not even going to taunt himself. Boring metal walls are better than _that_ kind of emotional torture.

A knock on the door interrupts his quality brooding time. “For the love of — what did you do this time? If you’re bleeding, get in here before you make a mess outside,” he calls out instead of getting his crutches.

The door opens and a vaguely-amused Shika leans against the frame. She’s got a sizable bottle in one hand. “And here I thought I’d be nice and bring you something back.”

Jian stares at her. “Is that baijiu?”

She nods.

“I love you,” he says very seriously.

Shika snorts and walks in. “Well, that’s doomed. You are very much _not_ my type,” she drawls as she pulls up a chair next to his little desk. He takes the bottle and opens it as she pulls a few small cups out of a pocket.

“Alas,” he deadpans as he pours for them both. “I suppose this will be my consolation.” They toast before knocking the first shot back. “Oh spirits, I needed that,” he says as he pours again.

‘How’s the leg?” she asks, sipping her drink this time.

“Still broken.”

Shika rolls her eyes. “Yes, thank you, I got that.”

Jian sighs. “It’s annoying, is what it is more than anything.” He looks down at the baijiu in his cup and sips, savoring the burn. (The woman has excellent taste, he’ll give her that.) “I don’t like being stuck in a room all the time. It’s an infirmary, not a jail.”

He winces as soon as the words are out of his mouth. Shika just hums and takes a sip.

“Send me into the sea, I’m _sorry_ , Shika. I wasn’t thinking.”

She shrugs and that just makes him feel worse. Because even though they’ve been on this exile-turned-treason for months, Jian’s a doctor. He can still see the marks that imprisonment left on her. Like her face still being a bit too thin to be normal, making the scar down the side look worse than it is. She runs just a few degrees too cold to be healthy for a firebender. Her hair hasn’t even grown out long enough to tie back yet, for Agni’s sake. (They say it’s for lice; everyone knows it’s an excuse. Wear your dishonor so all can see it.) 

Shika lightly kicks his good leg (more of a tap, really) to get his attention. He startles and catches her rolling her eyes again. “Stop. It’s fine, Jian.” She drinks and refills her cup. “We’re all a little sharp around the edges on this boat. If you actually hit too close, you’d be bleeding.”

“Or burning,” he points out. “I heard about the, ah, incident in the mess the other day.”

She scowls. “That one is officially above my pay-grade.”

“We’re getting paid now?” He’s thankful there’s nothing close by that she can throw at him. (Okay, so there’s always fire, but Shika wouldn’t do that, even if he was a bender.)

The door opens again. This time, Jee’s the one who pokes his head in. “Ah, there you are, Shika. I was wondering if you got back yet.”

“Do you need something, sir?” she asks.

Jee enters fully and closes the door behind him. “You’re off-duty, so if that’s baijiu, the only thing I need from you is my own cup of it.”

Jian doesn’t bother covering his amused snort. Shika fills a cup and hands it to Jee as he sits down. “I live to serve, sir.”

He peers at her over the rim of the cup before drinking. “You and I both know that’s a spirits-damned lie.”

Shika just smiles placidly.

“So,” Jian says, leaning back a bit, “we were just talking about a certain incident. Is it as bad as the rumors say?”

Jee snorts. “You’re going to have to be more specific. I’ve heard everything from the General trying to murder the corporal to them nearly sinking the ship.” He sighs. “From what I understand? They had an argument. The General threw one flame strike, the corporal dodged, and then apparently continued the conversation like civilized people.”

Jian and Shika exchange a look. There’s precisely one topic those two could even hope to have a civilized conversation about. (Jian doesn’t like talking about Ba Sing Se for a _reason_. He knew the look on the corporal’s face as soon as he met her; seeing her record was just confirmation.) (Everyone, of course, knows about General-Prince Iroh.)

“Is the kid okay?” Shika asks. She doesn’t need to specify, even though they now have two of them. Don’t get him wrong, the Beifong kid is great, even though she’s as Earth Kingdom as they come. 

(He’d complain about the ship turning into a daycare, but apparently children are safer here than the Caldera Palace and he really does not want to unpack that while he’s drinking good liquor.) (That train of thought requires the shit someone distilled using spare tank scrap: terrible, but highly effective.)

But they have one _kid_ and she was theirs even before they all stood on the deck and refused to leave. Jian knows he made his choice in those first terrifying and painful hours, throwing every bit of knowledge and skill he had just to keep her alive that first night and day. He knows Jee decided that night too. Shika would never admit it, but she’s much the same as them.

Because Jian can admit they’re selfish people. They’re all dragons in human skin, burning with something and willing to bare fangs at the spirits to protect what they’ve claimed as theirs. They’ll claim and then defend, burn the world down if it means keeping their own safe.

And they claimed the (former) princess of the Fire Nation as their own. She’s _theirs_ , and Jian would fist-fight the Fire Lord without thinking _twice_ if he ever had the opportunity. The man threw her away like garbage; he can damn well reap whatever the hell is coming for him.

Jee quirks his lips into a smile. “She’s fine,” he answers Shika. “She and Toph might be burning through the General’s supply of tea, but she’s certainly doing well.”

Well, that sounds like something he might possibly need to be worried about. “What did they do this time?” Jian asks.

“I know they had discovered that lightning travels through metal,” Shika says way too calmly (Jian would really love to know her secret). “I think they were going to talk to Tsui about it.”

“Well, that’s a terrifying prospect.” He downs the rest of his drink and pours himself some more. Then he downs that one too. Jee’s significant look stops him from throwing back a third.

“They were being fairly responsible about it,” Jee says far too mildly for comfort. _He’s_ not the one that’s in the infirmary. Jian’s the one that’s going to have to fix...whatever happens.

Perhaps not drinking is a wise idea at this point.

He takes a sip of the baijiu.

Sobriety is overrated.

—-

There might be absolutely nothing of actual note in this little port town she can’t even remember the name of, but there’s actual _dirt_ under Toph’s feet right now so all’s right with the world. And if there is anything actually interesting here she’s going to find it, even if she literally has to drag Smoky along with her.

“Why are you pulling my hand?”

“Because if I don’t, you’ll probably just wander off somewhere,” she says.

“Where would I go?” Smoky’s being honest again. She’s getting better at this sarcasm thing, but...

Toph sighs and stops. “Is there anything actually here?”

She feels Azula shrug. “Sub-Lieutenant Shika mentioned a market. Although she also said a number of the crew would probably be in one of the taverns if we needed them.”

Going to one of the taverns sounds like an awesome idea, except for that part where it’s pretty much guaranteed to earn them both Uncle’s Disappointed In You voice. (Why is he so good at that? Toph thinks she should probably be glad Mother wasn’t nearly as effective.) And really, she can’t imagine her friend being super-enthused to go there.

And she knows what that’s like now! Seriously, Toph was starting to wonder if Azula was actually _capable_ of large amounts of enthusiasm. As it turns out, she’s just...really muted about it. Much like, oh, _everything else._

Toph can’t help but wonder what her friend’s life was like before her terrible dad kicked her out. And she’s convinced Azula’s dad is terrible, and that’s not even counting the actual _war_ he’s waging. Smoky’s never actually said anything or complained, but Toph’s a master at figuring out the unseen (duh) and unsaid. And in this case? There’s _a lot_.

She can’t help but notice, not when they share the same bedroom. Not when Toph’s finally convinced her neither of them need to sleep on the floor. Not when her friend walks way softer than anyone else, when there’s always these weird pauses that don’t really belong. There’s hesitance in little things like Toph grabbing her arm, but no hesitation when Uncle’s cautiously throwing lightning.

Azula doesn’t know what to do with kindness.

Once she realizes it, it’s painfully obvious. Everything just...points in that direction. And Toph can admit that while her parents were a bit awful at times, they knew how to be kind. It’s uncomfortable, knowing that her friend had it worse than she did. Toph doesn’t like it. Which, really, is just more reason to hate the Fire Lord.

Toph’s list is getting pretty long.

But none of this is actually important right now (she knows she’s lying to herself) because she has actual dirt between her toes, and wasting it because she’s standing in the middle of a street sounds pretty dumb. “Sure, let’s go to the market. Maybe we could find out if we can actually use Shika and Tsui’s math lessons.”

Azula’s shoulders do a little shake with quiet laughter. Toph grins.

The market isn’t much, to be honest. Neither of them are really interested in anything like jewelry or charms or whatever the hell else people sell around here. Toph’s about ready to go back to the boat when Smoky makes an interested noise. Curious, Toph follows.

Oh. Oh! It’s a blacksmith. Unsurprisingly, there’s not a lot in terms of weapons; the smith here seems more interested in making things that would be useful to regular people. (Do people really need that many nails?) But metal is metal and right now? That means it’s _interesting_.

She’s been able to experiment, just a little, with some of the metal on the ship. Steel is the easiest right now, which is good because there’s a lot of it. But she’s noticed the differences between steel and the other metals she finds, how they resonate differently, how their songs all sound slightly different. Different enough for her to pick out.

There’s iron here. Toph’s getting really good at picking out that metal. But there are also a few others, each sounding just a little different to her. The multiple types of steel the smith has in the corner echo like a chorus in her mind. And she thinks that high bright song is bronze? And...oh, that’s a new one...

“Hey, what’re you doing over there?” The blacksmith sounds grumpy, not actually angry. (Toph feels Smoky go still at her side.)

Toph points to the metal she can’t place. “What’s that?”

“That? That’s just copper scrap.” He grunts. “Was gonna melt it down for brass, if I could get the zinc.”

Toph chews her lip. There’s something about the copper that’s itching her brain. “Can I have some?”

“Brass? I don’t really make jewelry...”

She shakes her head. “No, just the raw copper. Not jewelry. I can pay?” Worst case, she’ll just send the bill to Bàba. 

“You...want the scrap? Just that?” He sounds completely flabbergasted. Which is fair, because he’s probably very unused to this kind of request. Most people don’t go to a smith and not buy what they’re actually making.

Toph’s really bad about being most people.

“If you’re offering any of that scrap steel or iron, I’d take it too.” She shrugs. “I’m not that picky.”

The smith may be confused but he’s no idiot. Toph figured him the type: if he can make a sale on _scrap_ , he’s not going to question that too much. He picks up a few small pieces of the other metals, and adds them to the pile for her.

“Here you go, kid. Er, enjoy?” He says as he passes over the metal. The metal that just about sings in her hands. Oh man, she’s going to have so much fun playing around with this. 

“Wait...you’re the Exile!” she hears him exclaim suddenly.

(Toph guesses the man finally noticed Smoky.)

“Yes?” Azula pauses. “Can I purchase this?”

“This” ends up being a whetstone, and it’s more than worth it to witness the smith war with himself over making a profit or trying to give Azula a gift. The man’s sense eventually wins out, but Toph’s pretty sure her friend ended up with a bargain. Which is impressive considering zero actual bartering went on.

She should probably teach her friend how to actually buy things like a proper person at some point, even if it does cost her free entertainment. Toph’s not sure if this is just a thing about royalty or if she needs to add another item to the list. But Toph is a merchant’s daughter, and it feels downright _wrong_ to not try to bargain a price. Eh, something for another day.

Unless the rest of the market has anything interesting, which she doubts.

They don’t get too far from the smith when they’re stopped. Four men block their path on the main road through the town. “Hey. You’re the Exile, right?” one of them says in a clear Fire Nation accent.

All right, she admits she was basically asking for that.

Azula once again goes quiet like a predator next to Toph, still and tense. Toph shifts her weight slightly. On one hand, four-on-two are not terrible odds. On the other hand, she’s getting increasingly wary of random adults. Especially ones that take interest in Smoky like that. It’s usually a sign that violence might be afoot.

“Gotta be,” one of the others says. “Kid’s one of us and has the scarf.”

This is not reassuring. Toph checks the buildings around them; most of them are stone (good) but there are a lot of stalls made of wood (very bad). This isn’t a good place for a fight, but she’s not sure there’s going to be a choice. There usually isn’t.

Toph’s debating throwing the first attack when the one in front, clearly a leader, holds up his hands. It’s about as much of a non-threatening gesture they can give. “Look, if you are...we just...wanna talk,” he says.

Oh sure. Pull the other one, why don’t you. Thankfully, Azula seems to be on the same page, because she doesn’t relax at all. Toph rolls the piece of steel she just bought in one hand. It’s the metal she knows the best right now, and it’s a surprise if she needs it.

“Then why are you entering the beginning of Falcon Strikes Its Prey?,” Azula says quietly.

The man who spoke drops the act and snarls. “You’re alone, Azula of the Caldera. Come quietly and you won’t get hurt.”

Yup, called it. Toph wonders if she can set up one of the combinations Uncle and Rùfen have been working with them on. She’s already got the steel in-hand.

But before either of them can move, the leader of this group suddenly starts choking and falls over. With an arrow through his neck. There’s a rush of footsteps against the dirt, more people running in, and there’s a rush of flame and a harsh clanging noise. And then another body hits the ground.

The two men left alive suddenly drop to their knees in surrender. A knife also falls from one of their hands.

What.

“Captain was an asshole,” one of the men on the ground says. One of the people who came to help — the one with a bow — snorts.

“No argument here,” the archer says. He turns to Toph and Azula. “I’m Lt. Isao, the XO on the _Heavenly Star Who Stands His Ground_ ,” He all but spits out the ship’s name. Which, fair. What the hell is even _with_ Fire Navy ship names? Who thought these up? Were they _drunk_?

(Toph is very thankful that no one on the crew calls the _Pariah_ by its actual name. It’s one of those things she tries not to think about.)

“What do you want?” Azula asks, still all coiled up like she’s ready for a fight.

“Considering we just committed mutiny by killing the captain,” he continues, “we want to join you, Exile.”

Wait, what?

—-

Wen admits that she’s probably doing a very ill-advised thing right now. It’s incredibly dangerous to return to the teahouse now, after she was forced to inform Prince Zuko about Tsuba’s plans. But it was the only way she could think of that would keep the other palace workers, the ones who were quietly working with her and feeding her information, safe. It was the only way to keep the rest of the cell safe enough. To keep the prince himself safe for just a little while longer, to not risk putting even more responsibility on those already-overburdened shoulders. (He’s just a boy.)

She was surprised it also kept her safe. Of course she knew that telling the Palace would throw suspicion onto her, just as she knew that the most likely outcome of this would be execution. It didn’t matter. Not when the consequences of not doing so were so high.

Wen does not like the Fire Lord she currently serves. She’s seen too much in the walls of the Palace to be able to, has spent far too long trying to keep lives he has broken from shattering further, as fruitless an endeavor as that is. She knows the Palace is built on lies and blood moreso than wood and stone, and that underneath all the gilt and gold lies dark places fire cannot reach unless it means to burn. There is no way she cannot, not when she has served when Azulon ruled and now his son. So no, she feels no affection or real loyalty towards the Fire Lord that would cause her to act to save him as she did.

It burned her to do so. But the consequences of not speaking when she knew were too high. The Prince would be a puppet ruler, controlled by nobles and generals who would throw little lives into the neverending fire that fuels the war across the sea. (He is just a boy, a lonely boy who is too small for the throne and too innocent for the war.) Her coworkers, fellow servants in the Palace, do not deserve the suspicion that would have led to their deaths.

So Wen will let herself burn before she allows it to come to others. And right now, that means taking this risk one last time to return to the teahouse after receiving a note to meet there.

She’s both surprised and not when she finds Red already in the room. The other woman looks relieved as Wen enters and shuts the door behind her.

“I thought you were going to disappear,” Wen says as she sits down.

Red shrugs, causing the bells in her hair to chime slightly. “I am. I thought it prudent that I contact you one last time before I do, though.”

“That was dangerous.”

The woman smiles grimly. “No more than what you risked.”

Wen inclines her head, conceding the point. “So,” she murmurs, “what did you need to tell me?”

Red reaches into a pocket and pulls out a small deck of cards. “I thought we could discuss that over a game of cards.” She starts laying them out in a traditional pattern. “You do play hanafuda, yes?”

Wen’s gaze sharpens on the flower cards being set out. They’ve been working on this way of messaging through code, each plant and animal on the card meaning a specific thing and the message told throughout the hands played. 

Red sets out her message as she speaks. “I also wanted to thank you for the scroll you gave me. Very inspiring. I had never thought of the Celestial Fox in that way before.”

“I’ve had a fondness for the character for some years,” Wen admits. Almost twelve of them. 

(She tries not to think of nights long ago, with a small, warm body in her lap as she read spirit tales from a cheap scroll she had purchased from a street vendor. Tries not to think of wide, gold eyes struggling to stay open to listen to the stories of a clever rogue in service to Agni and Tui.)

(Tries not to think of the little girl who is not hers, her little fox-child, clever and sharp, and so far away.)

Still, it had not been difficult to find a new copy of the same scroll in the princess’s room to hand over to Red. And even less difficult to mention that the character was a particular favorite of a certain absent royal.

“Well, they certainly seem to be getting popular,” Red says. As if she hadn’t played a role in that particular association. With the princess’s official exile, publicly supporting her has become tricky. Blatantly doing so is a good way to earn censure at best. The other options only get far worse. Still, many are reluctant to condemn a literal child, and one so young, when discipline is still an option.

The Fox, then, with their dual loyalties and trickster nature, never a pure hero or villain, is a perfect stand-in. A way to offer commentary without seeming to.

Something that has turned out to be far more popular than any of them anticipated.

“Are they?” Wen asks as she takes a card trick, prompting Red to place the last hand.

“Shows are selling out,” she says with a sharp grin. “My old employer has hired me back on after giving them that one. You should come see us next time we’re in town.”

She schools her face into nonchalance when Red places one of the chrysanthemum cards.

_Take over here in the capital?_

Wen frowns, then takes the card trick.

_Yes_.

—-

Mai stands on the deck of the ship and sighs as she leans against the railing. The sea is a gorgeous shade of blue under a cloudless sky. A breeze ruffles her hair, just cool enough to offer some relief from the beating sun. She’s pretty sure she saw a school of fish just below the surface at some point, flashing silver in the light. It is, in short, the absolute ideal day to be on a boat in the middle of the ocean.

Mai hates it.

Of course she’d rather be back in the capital, in the Caldera, even if she thinks any and all Court politics are completely insipid. A bunch of rich idiots flaunting and trying to one-up each other in showing off which of them is the biggest rich idiot. It’s so predictable it’s not even entertaining anymore. But that didn’t mean she wanted to _leave_.

Just her luck then that Zuko’s warning turned out to be useful. Sure enough, her father’s been assigned as the new governor of one of the colonies. Which one, she couldn’t actually tell you. Mostly because her father mentioned it only once before proceeding to ignore her in favor of...honestly, she didn’t know exactly what. Not that it mattered.

She supposes she could ask her mother, but that would require actually having a conversation with her mother, which is a hard no. Mai would rather practice knife-swallowing. It would certainly be less painful. Especially now. There’s a reason she’s standing on the deck and risking being bothered by someone instead of hiding in their assigned quarters.

The next few months, with her mother’s pregnancy, are going to be hell. (If she has to sit through just one more of her mother’s “you’ll understand when you’re in my position” lectures, Mai will not be held responsible for her actions.)

So for the sake of her rapidly-dwindling sanity, she’s staying out here. At least she has something to do, she thinks as she pulls out the scroll Zuko gave her the last time they saw each other. He’d actually snuck out of the Palace to visit her family’s townhouse not long after her father got the news of his new assignment. And by “snuck out and visited”, she means he literally entered through her bedroom window and not the front door.

Which was typical, really. (And so very _Zuko_ that she can’t even be annoyed at his dramatics, only fondly exasperated.)

She’s worried about him. She has been worried about him for months, ever since...well, ever since Azula disappeared. That’s what Mai initially thought, which is something she’d never, _ever_ , say out loud. But she’s not stupid; Azula vanishing in the middle of the night with no warning or note is damn near identical to the rumors she’s heard about people getting “disappeared”. And yeah, she knows the story about the assassin, and knows Zuko believes it, and that it’s certainly plausible, but...no, something just doesn’t sit right with her.

Mai knows Azula. She doesn’t know her _well_ , but she knows her. (She’s not sure anyone really knows Azula well. Possibly including Azula herself.) And she’s seen the way her friend watches her brother. It’s kind of weird, really, the way she tracks him all the time, always seems to know exactly where he is and who’s around him. At first, Mai and Ty Lee just chalked it up to a weird jealousy or over-protectiveness. The two royals weren’t exactly the most socialized, after all, so sticking together made sense.

But things didn’t really add up. Zuko was always present at whatever Court function (that’s how they met, seeing each other as the only actually interesting people in the entire room), but Mai had forgotten there even _was_ a princess. Nevermind the fact that they’re almost the same age. Azula never went to public functions. (Spirits, if only Mai could get away with that. But she guesses princesses have other marriage prospects, or so her mother would claim.)

If Zuko wasn’t really socialized, his sister was worse. Mai’s pretty sure Azula intended to be mean the first couple of times they interacted, but it’s so incredibly hard to take her seriously on that when Mai’s three-year-old cousin had more effective insults. And that? That made Azula a _puzzle_.

She and Ty Lee had spent years trying to figure out what was going on, because the princess didn’t play by the rules nobility should. (Mai of course tried to use that argument with her mother about doing something worthwhile with her life, but of course _that_ flopped like a dead fish.) (Because obviously Zuko was thinking about marriage at age ten. Mother, what the hell.) Eventually, they were pretty convinced by their theory that Azula wasn’t at the Royal Academy for Girls and was in training instead of Court because she was getting fast-tracked for the Military Academy.

Disappearing in the middle of the night killed _that_ theory. Which brought them back to the original question, which is now even more important because Zuko’s losing it.

Oh, he’s not losing it in the obvious way. It’s only because they’ve been friends for years that Mai can even tell. But Zuko’s getting more desperate, a little more wild around the eyes, a little less anchored. She and Ty Lee have been trying to keep him grounded, to keep him from tearing off in some direction without a plan, and it’s worked so far. Except now neither she nor Ty Lee are going to be there and that’s a problem.

He snuck in the _window_ , of all things. And then handed her this scroll that she’s _very much_ not supposed to have. Or know even exists.

How the _hell_ did Zuko get Avatar Roku’s journal out of the Royal Library? _Why_?

Mai stills. Does he think someone’s paying attention to what he’s been reading? She wouldn’t put it past someone to burn this scroll if they found out about it. It’s easier to count the number of people who wouldn’t.

So in that case, no one’s going to expect Roku’s journal to be in the hands of a teenage girl in the colonies. If they can’t find the journal, they’d probably just assume someone else burned it. Predictable.

That leaves the question of why her. Trust is the obvious answer (and Mai will never admit to how pleased that makes her feel, not even on pain of death), and she’ll be able to hide it easier than Ty Lee. But are those the only reasons?

Curiosity finally gets the better of her. Mai opens the scroll and starts reading Roku’s cramped but clear handwriting.

_As I put brush to paper, I ponder the circumstances that have brought me here. I am but an initiate in the ways of the world, a novice in so many things. I grew up a proud citizen of the Fire Nation and now I find myself instead to be a citizen of the world. The only one, because I can belong to no nation. It’s a terrifying prospect. To be sixteen and have to leave the only home you’ve ever known behind._

_So I suppose I write now because I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know what it is I’ll find in the path before me. But even now, with as little knowledge as I have, I can realize that I have limited myself, and I fear my countrymen have limited themselves. It’s not enough to be Fire, and remain ignorant of Air, Water, and Earth. At least, that’s what I have been told as Avatar._

_Perhaps some day, someone will read this long after I’m dead. And I can let them judge the truth of that statement. And I can let them judge me as Roku of Hira’a, a boy who wants to find his own voice in the world, instead of as Avatar Roku, to whom nations listen because of his title._

Mai blinks. She’d never really thought about Avatar Roku as, well, a sixteen year old boy. That’s when he would have learned he was the Avatar. And he had his dreams for the future stripped away and was forced into a role the world expected him to play, his own wants be damned.

That...well, that sounds _incredibly_ familiar. 

Except...did he really? History says he took on the role and played it until it killed him, branding him a traitor forever. But this journal here, he _expected_ someone else to read it. If he really was playing the role perfectly, would he even express his doubts like this? Would he dare his future reader to judge him, if he were fully that traitor?

No wonder this journal was dangerous. Even if he weren’t a traitor, Roku’s all but challenging everything he was told to be. Mai snorts, imagining her parents’ faces if she did the same thing.

Wait a second.

Roku was only a few years older than her, and a boy, but...there’s nothing really stopping her from doing something similar. Their positions aren’t _that_ different, not with how Mai’s currently on a boat to spirits-know-where and expected to just deal with that quietly. Hell, her mother would be thrilled if Mai took up the much-more “socially-acceptable” hobby of writing. 

It’s not like the woman would have to know _what_ Mai was writing.

Mai’s lips quirk in a very slight smile. All right, Avatar. Challenge accepted.

——

Taiyō no Sākasu is both everything Ty Lee imagined it would be and more than she ever expected. She has to admit Zuko’s faith in her was nice, even if she did know her skills were more than good enough to make the cut. It’s really always so nice when friends have your back.

Now, her friends aren’t here, but that’s okay. They’re counting on her. It’s sweet that Zuko wants her happy, and she knows that’s why he pushed this, but she’s seen him get sadder and sadder ever since Azula got taken away. (She wishes she had that kind of relationship with her sisters. Any of them.)

Ty Lee agrees with Mai: there’s something not-right about their other friend. No, that’s the wrong word. Azula’s right for herself. She’s just...different for the rest of the world. They’ve never tried to explain this to Zuko, because it’s easy to see that he loves his sister and Ty Lee never wants to hurt him like that. Especially when he’s hurting so much already.

So that’s why, even when it hurt to leave, she did. Her friends need her, she’s the only one who can do this for them. She knows she’s special and worth something to them, that not just anyone can do what she can.

At least, that’s how Ty Lee justifies it to herself. Because otherwise, she’d have to keep pinching herself to remind herself that she’s really here. She’s really doing this. She’s going to do the thing she loves, and she’s not letting anyone down or hiding in anyone’s shadow. It’s _good_ to be herself and stand in the spotlight for once.

“If you’re the kind of talent we’re getting these days, kid, I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

Ty Lee “meeps” slightly and spins around to face the woman who spoke, ready to defend herself. She’s older, but still in excellent shape. Probably not an acrobat, but she might have been when she was younger. She’s leaning against one of the carts, an easy smile on her dark face. The wind causes the bells woven into her dark hair to chime slightly.

The woman laughs. “Easy, easy. I don’t mean any insult.” She shrugs. “I’ve just been away for a number of years. So I mean if you’re the new blood, I’ve got a neat challenge in keeping you interested.”

“Oh,” Ty Lee says, relaxing. She offers the woman a smile. “That’s fine! I’m just a little nervous, you know? I’ve dreamed of being here for so long, it doesn’t seem real.”

“Ah, that’s understandable.” The woman looks around with a fond smile. “It’s been awhile, but it’s like coming home.”

“Coming home?” 

She laughs again, bright and brassy. There’s something about it that puts Ty Lee at ease. “I used to be like you. Not nearly as good,” she says, winking, “but I did all right. I left for a few years to take care of some friends. Boss offered me a place back. Not my old one, mind, but I think I’m a bit old for that.”

“You can’t be _that_ old!” Ty Lee then turns a little red. That was rude!

The woman doesn’t seem to mind, as she just keeps grinning. “Oh I like you.” She shakes her head. “Nah, my days on the highwire are over. But I’ll be coaching and designing acts now.”

Oh! Ty Lee never expected she’d get a coach. She’s always had to figure things out on her own, like mixing chi blocking with acrobatics well enough to hold her own against even Zuko in a spar. The idea of having someone help her get better has her all but bouncing on her feet. “You’re a coach?”

“Sure am. Name’s Hiroko.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Hiroko,” she says with a bow. “I’m Ty Lee. I hope we can work well together.”

Hiroko smiles, a flash of mischief in her eyes. “Oh, I’m sure we will. I have some excellent ideas for new acts. I bet you’ll love them.”

Ty Lee beams at her. 

——

Azula takes the thin piece of metal Toph hands her and tries to bend lightning only through it. This is something Sifu Rùfen asked her to try, before they try to bend the lightning through Lu’s húdiédāo. It’s difficult, because she has to pay attention to how much lightning she actually makes when she separates her poles. Uncle Iroh has been showing her how to direct the lightning she generates, and how to bleed off excess. Too much will melt the metal, and that’s why it’s critical that she gets this perfect before trying with the blades. Or other metal things Toph creates.

(Azula had heard about an argument between Sifu Rùfen and Uncle, but they were behaving extremely politely towards each other during training sessions. She’s not sure how to handle this. Sifu Rùfen is the one who can teach her how to use the húdiédāo but Uncle is the one she needs to learn lightning from. She needs both if she’s to be as effective as possible.)

The metal sparks, then slumps, dripping onto the deck of the ship.

She huffs.

“Yeah, I’m glad we’re practicing like this, Smoky,” Toph says as she bends the melted metal back into a usable form. “I’m not in any rush to swap places with the steel, here.”

Azula’s breath catches in her throat, and it hurts when she thinks about Toph ever feeling lightning. Toph’s an earthbender. There’s no reason for her to ever feel that power. She doesn’t have to learn it. (She thinks about the branching scars on her arm, and doesn’t like the idea of those being on Toph’s instead. Or also.) (Azula can take it. No one else has to.)

“Smoky? You okay there?”

She pulls her attention back. “Yes.”

Toph considers her for a moment before shrugging. “All right.” She hands back the piece of metal.

Before she can try again, Uncle Iroh clears his throat. Azula looks up and sees one of the crew from the other ship — Lt. Isao, the XO — walking towards them, along with Lt. Jee. She hadn’t realized he had come aboard. He certainly wasn’t on this ship when they left the port a few days ago, so he must have come over on a rowboat. She tilts her head, and waits.

Lt. Isao salutes when he gets close. “Your Highness, I’m pleased to report that all the crew that remain on the _Heavenly Star Who Stands His Ground_ are fully loyal to our current cause.”

Azula frowns. “You shouldn’t...call me that.”

Lt. Isao blinks. “Your Highness?”

“That,” she says. She doesn’t know how to explain this, because she keeps trying and people keep doing it. ‘I’m not...that title was revoked.”

If Honored Father hears people call her that, if he hears people disobeying his order, he will be...upset. Azula thinks she likes these people, and thinking about Honored Father being upset with them makes her stomach twist into knots. (The smell of burning flesh and pain and it won’t go away, it keeps coming back, she needs to not fail him, not be wrong and bad and then it’ll stop. If she fixes things wrong with herself, he won’t be upset.)

Lt. Jee shrugs and turns to Uncle Iroh. “Technically speaking, sir, we’re no longer under Fire Nation jurisdiction, are we?”

Uncle Iroh chuckles. “No, we are not.”

That still doesn’t solve the issue of Honored Father being upset. Words _mean_ things. That’s how the rules _work_. Azula doesn’t understand why other people don’t understand this. If you follow a rule, one thing happens. If you break a rule, something else does. This is how the world works. 

Right?

(But the rules keep changing and she doesn’t know why, and it’s so very frustrating because that’s what she was taught, _that’s how this all works_. But if the rules keep changing, that means reality is changing and how is she supposed to know what’s true and what isn’t?)

(Azula remembers a time when she was very little, when her cousin was still alive and he’d sit with her in the Palace garden.

“Things change all the time, Zula,” Lu said. He was carrying her on his back on the way to the garden, a scroll tucked under one arm. Azula had her arms wrapped around his neck. “You wouldn’t be able to grow if things didn’t change.”

“But Honored Father says some things never do,” she said, frowning at the back of his head.

Azula felt Lu stiffen for a second before he went back to his easy pace. “Sure. Uncle Ozai is right about _some_ things not changing. But most things do.” He shrugged. “Change isn’t always bad, Zula.”

Lu stopped under one of the cherry trees and swung her over his shoulders. She giggled a bit as he dropped to the ground and settled her in his lap. “Comfy there?” he asked, grinning. She giggled again as his voice rumbled in his chest, and against her back.

This was safe.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, then reached for the scroll. “Now. What are we learning about today?”

Lu carefully opened the scroll of spirit tales. He knew it was her favorite, even though it wasn’t pretty like some of Zuko’s scrolls. But it was written in Standard Huǒzi so she’d be able to read it herself one day. And Lu never said anything about how it wasn’t fancy and didn’t look at her any differently for having a scroll not in Court Huǒzi. Azula knew she could share this with him.

“Oh!” He sounded pleased. “I think you’ll like this one, Zula. It’s called ‘The Celestial Fox and the Dragon Who Fell to Earth’.” He cleared his throat and started reading out loud.

_There once was a valley where people lived in harmony, because the air was clean and the water was good, the earth was rich, and the warmth of the sun was not too much and not too little. People lived happy and healthy and sang songs to honor all the great spirits. And things were good._

_But some of the spirits grew jealous of the songs, and in revenge they poisoned the water and the earth and the air, so no rain would fall. And without the rain, the light of Agni and Tui caused suffering as the valley dried out._

_Now, the Celestial Fox served both Agni and Tui, and so when they noticed the people of the valley suffering, they decided to try to help..._

Lu’s voice fell into a steady rhythm, like a heartbeat. Or a drum. Azula loved it when he changed his voice for the Fox’s words, and got deeper when Agni spoke. She let herself curl into his chest when the Fox went to ask Yinglong the dragon for help, and stiffened when Yinglong spoke about the secret curse the bad spirits had left on the valley, and that destiny said the Fox would fall from heaven forever. 

_“I want to help,” Yinglong said. “But if I leave heaven to fix the earth, I will never be able to return home.”_

_The Fox was quiet. They thought and thought, but the curse was well made. Not even the great trickster could find a way to evade it. “Friend,” they said, “I cannot ask you to do this. You would give up your home, be forever exiled from heaven. I will take the curse.”_

_And so the Celestial Fox prepared to fall, but before they could even twitch one of their tails, Yinglong smiled and said. “I know. And that is why you do not have to ask.” And the dragon dove to earth, bringing with him clean rain to wash away all the poison._

Azula burrowed deeper into Lu’s lap, and he wrapped his arms around her, just like how he described Yinglong coiling around the valley to protect it and drive off the bad spirits. She never felt safer than when she was here.

_“Why?” cried the Fox. “You did not have to do that! Now you can never return to heaven!”_

_Yinglong smiled again. “Because I could help. And you are free. I could not bear to see you chained.”_

Lu’s voice trailed off. Azula frowned and looked up at him. “But Yinglong couldn’t go home. He chained himself instead.”

He smiled down at her. “But he changed the Fox’s fate. He thought that it was a good thing to change.” His hand was warm and comforting on her head, and he ruffled her hair playfully. “Wouldn’t you agree, Zula?”)

Azula sighs, and doesn’t bother arguing about titles with Uncle Iroh. Uncle Iroh, after all, knows how to handle Honored Father when he is upset.

“Okay, I really need to ask,” Toph interrupts. “But what the actual hell is up with Fire Nation ship names? It’s bad enough that I’m on a ship named _Enforcing the Way in Agni’s Name_ , but at least none of you actually use it. But _Heavenly Star Who Stands His Ground_? Really?”

“Honestly, we ask ourselves that question all the time,” Lt. Jee says, sounding slightly amused.

Lt. Isao snorts. “The running theory is that the person who names them is very, very drunk.”

“Theory also says that the reason this ship,” Lt. Jee taps his foot, “is cursed is because even it hates its name.”

“So, uh, if everyone agrees the names are stupid, why don’t you change them?” Toph asks slowly.

“Well, that’s not really up to us,” says Lt. Isao with a shrug. “That’s more Naval Command’s thing.”

“But we’re no longer in the Fire Navy,” Lt. Jee counters.

“Good point.” Lt. Isao looks thoughtful. “I can ask the crew when I get back. Make a nice clean break, if nothing else.”

“And this one?” Toph grumbles. “I’d really like to stop thinking about that name.”

“I’d suggest keeping the _Pariah_ , except that isn’t really accurate if we now have other ships trying to _join_ us,” Lt. Jee says.

Azula watches the conversation happen around her. She really hasn’t thought much about the name of the ship she’s been on. She’d known it has a reputation for being cursed, but didn’t really consider it meaningful. Apparently, it is a lot more meaningful than she had assessed. (She...never thought about how Honored Father had sent her off on a _cursed_ ship. She...doesn’t like the feeling that causes.)

Words mean things.

In that case, the name of the ship is...inaccurate. Which way are they enforcing now? Is it in Agni’s name, now that they have been cast out of the Fire Nation? 

Honored Father is the Fire Lord. Honored Father is supposed to be Agni’s will. But...Azula knows Honored Father can be wrong. So...who’s name are they operating under?

Words mean things. And sometimes change is necessary.

Azula remembers a day in the Palace gardens, underneath a cherry tree. She remembers security and warmth, as if she were in the coils of a dragon. As if she were in a safe place. (She remembers her cousin who went to Earth and never returned.)

“Yinglong,” she whispers, feeling the shape of it in her mouth again, all these years later.

Uncle Iroh turns to her. “Did you say something, Azula?” he asks calmly. Everyone else goes quiet.

“Just..Yinglong,” she says slightly louder.

Toph tilts her head. “Oh! I know that story! That’s the dragon that fell to earth.”

Azula nods, then remembers she should probably explain a bit more. “I just...remembered how Lu Ten read me that tale.” She spares a glance at Uncle Iroh and wishes she hadn’t said that, because he looks very sad.

Before she can apologize to him, Toph speaks up. “I always liked that one, even though the one where he meets the badgermoles is my favorite.” She grins. “Obviously.”

“Yinglong meets badgermoles?” She’s never heard about that.

“Yeah!” Toph nods, then grins wider. “Aw, come on, Smoky. He’s a dragon. He’s not just gonna mope around and do nothing after he can’t go home.”

“A bunch of dragons who can’t go home,” Lt. Jee muses. “That’s...actually kind of fitting.”

She blinks at him.

“I can put it to the crew,” he says, smiling, “but I’m pretty sure they’ll either love it, appreciate the irony, or both.”

As it turns out, he is not wrong. Much to her surprise, when Lt. Jee makes the suggestion in the mess at dinner, the idea gains murmurs of approval from the crew. But when he reveals that the name was suggested by _her_ , the murmurs turn into _cheers_.

Azula really doesn’t know what to make of this. Her thoughts are a jumble, chasing each other all night in winding thought-patterns. Things are happening so quickly, changes are happening so quickly, and new rules are being formed while old ones need to be discarded. It’s frustrating and nerve-wracking, but also...kind of exciting.

She crawls into bed and can’t sleep. The thought-patterns keep spiralling, and this should be bad, this should be very bad. Except it doesn’t feel dangerous this time. (Honored Father is not here to pull her out, to drown out all the ideas in her head except for his.) (It feels like breathing freely.) 

So Azula lets herself lie still and chases the spiral down for once.

It’s new. It’s _different_. Because Lu was right when he said not all change is bad. The rules are changing, yes, but they’re also changing for her. There are things that aren’t restricted from her anymore. It’s like a hunger that’s not satisfied by food, a hunger only in her mind and one where the more she feeds it the hungrier it is. Except the feeling isn’t hunger, because it doesn’t hurt, it makes her want _more_.

It makes her want to _be_ more.

That’s...that is a very dangerous thought.

Suddenly, the room is too small, too confining. Azula feels like she’s trapped, something straining inside her chest to burst out. Staring at the ceiling offers her no answers. She needs some air, needs some space to think. So she slides out of bed (Toph does not wake up) and pads down the corridor and up the stairs onto the deck.

It’s still dark, the sky just starting to lighten in that period before dawn. A breeze ruffles her hair, unbound from the usual topknot. It’s the first time she’s been on the deck with her hair down. Azula had forgotten to tie it up, but...it feels nice. It’s impractical, but there’s something soothing about it being unbound, free and windblown.

She makes her way to the prow of the ship and hops onto the railing, balancing on the balls of her feet. It’s been awhile since she came here, alone at night when she couldn’t sleep and needed to think. (She still had the bandages on, she’s pretty sure about that.) She’d look at the horizon and wonder where she was going.

Because home, the Fire Nation, the Palace, all of that is behind her. Of course Azula knew that she wouldn’t be able to go home. Honored Father’s rules don’t work like that. And she’s not stupid; if Honored Father gives her an impossible task, he intends for her to fail. There’s just another lesson elsewhere.

(“ _You will learn to hold your tongue, and suffering will be your teacher.”_ )

He wants her silent, out of sight. He’s always intended for her real home to be in the shadows.

Words mean things.

But he’s shoving her out of the shadows. How can she be in the shadows when he names her Exile, strips away her titles (meaningless as they are on the likes of her), and puts her face on posters throughout the colonies? What is the lesson?

Is there a lesson at all?

(“ _Your father...he’s a hard man to please.”_ )

Azula goes still.

She’s tried for so long to prove her worth, to prove she’s useful. She knows what happens to broken things and she’s not one of them. But he makes demands of her that she can never achieve. Requiring her to chase after a spirit tale? That’s just a logical progression. But what is she supposed to achieve? Why is she doing all of this?

It’s for Zuko. She knows it’s for her brother. Azula is to be the flame between him and the world, his knife in the dark, the sword in his hand. That is what matters. That’s what she is useful for, and everything she is bends towards that purpose. And that’s okay, it really is. She’s supposed to be strong, to be what Zuko needs when he needs force, because then Zuko is strong enough to be soft. 

Azula is meant to be everything Zuko is not, cannot be.

And this is fine. This is acceptable, the way it is supposed to be.

So why does she want more?

Azula had been, if not content, then she had accepted things because that is how they were. How could they be anything else?

Everyone else thinks differently.

( _“Change isn’t always bad, Zula.”_ )

Azula doesn’t understand people, not the way that comes easily to others. She knows she’s always missing something, because people don’t follow the rules. They don’t make sense. Because why do the adults on this ship, on the other ship, any of them...why do they act as if she’s someone worth listening to? She’s not even a princess anymore, so she doesn’t have a title. She’s just...Azula. 

And what is “just Azula” worth?

Only what she can do, according to Honored Father.

But what he said she can do doesn’t match what others think she can. They act as if she has some kind of worth, and act as if that’s been _proven true_. They act as if Honored Father is wrong. And Azula knows now that he can be wrong.

People believe he’s wrong about her.

What does it mean if they’re correct? If she’s not only what he says she is, and nothing more?

Still balancing on the rail, Azula looks at her hands. They look like they always do, scarred with the shiny skin of small healed burns and small cuts. They’re not a noble lady’s hands. She’s never been a noble lady, for all that she held the title of princess by accident. They’re rough and calloused, with new calluses forming from working with the húdiédāo. They look like they always did, except now some of her fingertips are stained with ink.

Honored Father had said she couldn’t learn Court Huǒzi, that it would be wasted on her. That it’s too complicated and she’s too worthless to bother teaching.

Except Uncle Iroh has been teaching her, and it’s not impossible. Uncle Iroh says that the only reason her characters are messy is because she lacks practice. That she’s picking it up quick enough. He says it’s not a waste of his time.

Azula sucks in a breath as she realizes she believes Uncle Iroh over Honored Father.

( _“What else am I supposed to call him?”_

_“I don’t know. But from what I’ve heard? He doesn’t really deserve that kind of respect from you.”_ )

Words mean things.

Calling people by their proper names is a matter of respect, but it is also a matter of acknowledgement. She’s still so pleased to be able to call Uncle Iroh by that. And Mother was Mother because while Mother had expectations of her, Mother was softer in expressing them, less demanding. And she allowed that amount of informality.

Zuko is Zuko, because although she exists for his sake, although he will be Fire Lord, although he holds her life and her purpose in his hands, he will never consent to being called anything else. He is her Prince and he rules over her existence, and he tells her to call him Zuko, because he is also her brother and that means something to him.

“Honored Father,” Azula whispers, then stops. That is incorrect.

She starts over, trying the shape of the words in her mouth. “Father —” she tries, then frowns. That’s still incorrect. But it’s a different kind of incorrect.

Uncle Iroh is Lu’s father. Azula...doesn’t have that. He is not her “Father”, not if Lu had one, because that word _means_ something, and it’s something she doesn’t have.

Azula takes a breath, tasting the wind and salt on her tongue. The sun is starting to creep across the horizon. “The Fire Lord is wrong.”

That feels right. That is accurate enough. He is not her father, but he is the Fire Lord. And the Fire Lord exiled her. Tossed her out of her home with no expectation for her return.

She is not a broken thing and he treated her like she was.

The Fire Lord is wrong, and Azula doesn’t have to listen to him anymore, because the Fire Lord exiled her.

Azula doesn’t know what to do, but she’ll figure it out.

The scar on her face hurts a little as she pulls it into a smile behind the scarf. Dawn breaks and she feels the fire inside her flare a little brighter as the world wakes up. 

Sometimes change is a very good thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End of Book 1
> 
> _salt & ashes_ will continue in Book 2: _something like a storm_
> 
> mirror-prefix did an amazing set of fanart, go [look](https://mirror-prefix.tumblr.com/post/631044712207400960/)


End file.
